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B. L. PAEJEOW. 


17 TO 37 VaNDEWATER 5T 

' 'i/iEwro^Kc 






The Seaside Library. 

POCKET EDITION. 


NO. PRICE. 

1 Yolande. By William Black 

2 Molly Bawn. By ‘The Ducliess ” 20 

3 The Mill on the Floss. By Georjre Eliot 20 

4 Under Two Flag:s. By *• Oukla ” 20 

5 Adniiral’s Ward. By Mrs. Alexander.. 20 

6 Portia. By “ The Duchess” ‘20 

7 File No. li3. By Emile Gaboriau 20 

8 East Lynne. By Mrs. Henry Wood 20 

9 Wanda. By ‘‘ c3uida ”. ‘20 

10 The Old Curiosity Shop. By Dicuens. 20 

11 John Halifax, Gentleman. MissMulock 20 

12 Other People’s Money. By Gaboriau. 20 

13 Eype’s Acquittal. By Helen B. Mathers 10 

14 Airy Fiiiry Lilian. By ” The Duchess ” 20 


1.5 Jane Eyre. By Cliarlotte Brout6 20 

16 Phyllis. By ‘‘ The Duchess ” t;0 

17 Tlie Wooing O’t. By Mr.s. Alexander.. 20 

18 Sliaiidon Bells. By William Black *20 

19 Her Mother’s Sin. By the Author of 

*‘ Dora Thorne ” .- 20 

20 Within an Inch of His Life. By Emile 

Gaboriau 20 

21 Sunrise. By William Black 20 

22 David Copperfleld. Dickens. Vol. I.. 20 

22 David Copperfleld. Dickens. Vol. H. 20 

23 A Princess of Thule. By William Black 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Dickens. Vol. I... 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Dickens. Vol. It.. ‘20 

25 Mrs. Geoffrey. By ” The Duchess ”... 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Gaboriau. Vol. I. 20 
26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Gaboriau. Vol. II. 20 
27, Vanity Fair. By William .M. Tliackeray 20 

ylvanhoe. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

i Beauty’s Daughters. ‘‘ The Duchess ” 20 
JO Faith and Unfaith. By ‘‘The Duchess ” 2(> 

81 Middlemarch. By George Eliot 20 

"32 The Land Leaguers. Anthony Trollope ‘20 

33 The Clique of Gold. By Emile Gaboriau ‘20 

34 Daniel Deronda. By George Eliot ... 30 

35 Lady And ley’s Secret. Miss Braddon ‘20 

36 Adam Bede By George Eliot 20 

37 Nicliolas Nickleby. By Clmrles Dickens ^JO 

38 The Widow Lerbuge. By Gaboriau.. 20 

39 In Silk Attire. By William Black 20 

40 The Ijast Days of Pompeii. By Sir E. 

Bulwer Lytton ". ... ... 20 

41 Oliver Twist. By Charles Dickens 20 

42 Romola. By George Eliot 20 

4:j The Mystery of Orcival. Gaboriau 20 


44 Mad eod of Dare. By William Black. . 20 

45 A Little Pilgrim. By Mrs. Oliphant. . . 10 

46 Very Hard Cash. By Charles Reade. . 20 

47 Altiora Peto. By Laurence Oliphant. . 20 

48 I’hicker Than Water. By James Pay n. 20 

49 That Beautiful Wretch. By Black... ‘20 
59 Tiie Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. 


By William Black 20 

51 Dora Thorne. By the Author of ‘‘ Her 

Mother’s Sin 20 

52 The New Magdalen. Bv WilkieCollins. 20 

.53 The Story of Ida. By Francesca 10 

54 A Broken Wedding-Ring. By the Au- 
thor of ” Dora Thorne” 20 

.55 The Three Guardsmen. By Dumas. ... 20 

56 Phantom Fortune. 3Iiss Braddon.... 20 

57 Shirley. By Charlotte Brout6 ‘20 


(This List is Continued 


NO. PRICE. 

58 By the Gate of the Sea. D. C. MuiTay 10 

59 Vice Versa. By F. Anstey 20 

60 The Last of the Mohicans. Cooper.. 20 

61 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Kowson. 10 

62 Tlie Executor. By Mrs. Alexander. . 20 

63 The Spy. By J. 1‘enimore Cooper. . . 20 

64 A Maiden Fair. By Charles Gibbon . . 10 

65 Back to the Old Home. By M. C. Hay 10 

66 The Romance of a Poor Young Man. 

By Octave Feuillet 10 

67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Blackmore. . 30 

68 A Queen Amongst AVomen. By the 

Author of ‘‘ Dora Thorne ”. ... 10 

69 Madolin's Lover. By the Author of 

•‘Dora Thorne” 20 

70 While Wings. By AVilliam Black — 20 

71 A Sti’uggle for Fiiiue. Mrs. Riddell.. 20 

72 Old Mydde ton’s Money. By M. C. Hay 20 

73 Redeemed by Love. - By the Author of 

‘‘ Dora Tliorne ” 20 

74 Aurora Floyd. By Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

75 Twenty Yeai"s After. By Dumas... 20 

76 Wife in Name Only. By the Author of 

‘‘ Dora Tliorne ” 20 

<7 A Tale of Two Cities. By Dickens 2u 

78 Madcap Violet. By William Black... 20 

79 W^edded and Parted. By the Author 

of ‘‘ Dora Thorne ” 10 

80 June. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

81 A Daughter of Heth. By Wm. Black. 20 

82 Sealed Lips. By J’. Du Boisgobey . . . 20 

83 A Strange Story. Bulwer Lytton 20 

84 Hard Times. By Charles Dickens. . . 20 

85 A Sea Queen. By W. Clark Russell.. ‘20 

86 Belinda. By Rhoda Broughton 20 

87 Dick Sand; or, A Captain at Fifteen. 

By Jules Verne 20 


88 The Privateersman. Captain Marryat 20 

89 Tlie Red Eric. By R. M. Ballantyne. 10 

90 Ernest Mai traver-s. Bulwer Lytton.. 20. 

91 Barnab.y Rudge. Bj" Charles Dickens. 30 

92 Lord Lynne’s Choice. By the Author f 


of ‘‘ Dora Thorne ” 20 

93 Anthony Trollope's Autobiography.. 20 

94 T.ittle Dorrit. By Charles Dickens. . . 30 

95 The Fire Brigade. R. M. Ballantyne 10 

96 Erling the Boid. By R. M. Ballantyne 10 ^ 

97 All in a Garden Fair. AValter Besalit.. 20 

98 A Woman-Hater. By Charles Reade. 20 

99 Barbara’s History. A. B. Edwards. . . 2C \ 

100 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas. By 

Jules Verne *. 20 

101 Second Thoughts. Rhoda Broughton 20 
10 J The Moonstone. By Wilkie Collins.. . 30 

103 Rose Fleming. By Dora Russell 10 

104 The Coral Pin. By F. Du Boisgobey. 30 

105 A Noble Wife. B.v John Saunders 20 

106 Bleak House. By Charles Dickens. . . 40 

107 Dombey and Smi'. Charles Dickens. . 40 

108 The Cricket on the Health, and Doctor 

Marigold. By Charles Dickens 10 

109 Little Loo. By AV. Clark Russell 20 ! 

110 Under the Red’Flag. By Miss Braddon 10 

111 The Little School-AIaster Mark. By 

J. H. Shorlhouse 10 j 

112 The Waters of Marah. By John Hill 20 j 


Third I'uge of Cover.) 


i 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


By B. L. FARJEOIS. 





'i 




/ '2 c> c- 


^_Or 


NEW YORK: 

GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 


17 TO 27 Vandewater Street. 


0 




LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


FART L 

BUD. 


HOW THOMAS DEXTJ3R MADE HIS MOHBY. 

His age was fifty-five; hers, seven -and -a- half. His name 
was Tiiornas Dexter; hers, Little Make-Believe. He was 
.a crooked, ugly, pock-marked little man; she, a crooked, 
ugly, pock-marked little girl. He was a general dealer; 
so was she. 

His shop was situated in the heart of Clare Market, 
which some people with fastidious notions call Lincoln’s 
Inn Fields. The persons thus fastidiously inclined and 
who thus, metaphorically, turn up their noses at Clare 
Market, are dwellers therein, and being genteelly inclined, 
wish to disguise the fact; resembling in this respect other 
persons higher in the social scale who reside in Bays water 
and call it Hyde Park — to the confusion of simple-minded 
cabmen (if any such exist) and unsuspicious friends from 
the country. 

Thomas Dexter gave himself no such airs; Clare Mar- 
ket was good enough for him, and his ambition, in a resi- 
"'dential way, did not extend beyond it. Thirty-three 
years had passed over his head since, with his own hands,' 
he painted on his shop windows the words, “ Dexter, 
General Dealer,” there not being room for Thomas.” 
Time and dust had eaten into this sign and quite obliterat- 
ed it, as in due course they would eat into Thomas Dexter 
and quite obliterate him. When the painted letters of the 
legend on his shop windows were fresh and bright, Thomas 


4 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


Dexter, also fresh and bright, commenced business with 
exactly fourteen pounds in 2:old, which he found, on the 
evening of his father’s funeral, tied up in an old night- 
cap, in a hard lump close to the tassel. He had come 
home, sad of face and at heart, from the churchyard in 
which his only friend and relative lay buried. He was 
not given to sentiment, but he and his father had been 
comrades for many a long year, and it was natural that he 
should feel melancholy in his loneliness. There was an- 
other reason for sad -hear ted ness: he had spent his last 
shilling on his father’s funeral. 

Tom,” his father had said to him in his dying mo- 
ments, there’s somethink weighing on my mind.” 

‘‘Out with it, father,” said Thomas Dexter, “ if it’ll 
ease yer.” 

“I was born in this here neighborhood,” continued the 
old man, “ and so was you, my boy. Lord! don’t I re- 
member the night you come into the world! And now 
I’m a-going out of it! It was a Saturday night, and I 
was two mile away with my barrer, in Tottenham Court 
Koad, where I had a pitch. The old woman was with me, 
looking arter theTin, and she sed to me about ten o’clock, 

^ Father,’ sed she, ‘ I feel a bit queerish; I think I’d best 
go home.’ ‘ All right, old girl,’ sed I, ‘ trot off. I’ll 
manage without yer.’ ‘ Don’t worry about me,’ she sed, 
smiling at me as she walked away; ‘ it’s only a spasm.’ 
That was yon, Tom; you was the spasm. It was past 
twelve afore I got home, and I no sooner put my head in 
at the door than I knew I was a father in real earnest, for 
you salooted me with a squeal which you kept up, on and 
off, for a matter of three months, I should say. You and 
the old woman Avas laying on this very bed, in this very 
room — it’s rum to think on, ain’t it? It was sharp work, 
but your mother was smart at any think she set her mind 
on. She’d hardly time to throw herself on the bed afore 
you Avas born. The room was dark, too, almost as dark as 
it is now.” 

“ Why, father,” said Thomas Dexter, “ it’s broad day- 
light, and the sun’s a-shining right into the Avinder!” 

“ You’ll allow me to know,” muttered the old man,, 
with a fretful sigh. “ I can see when it’s dark and AA'hen 
it’s light. I ain’t dead yet, my boy. Tom, I’ve a sort o’ 
notion that I’m Avandering. Whet-e Avas I, my boy?” 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


5 


In this room, when mother was confined.” 

No— afore that! Where was I afore I come home that 
night?” 

‘‘ In Tottenham Court Koad, with the barrer.” 

No, no, no! — afore that! Give a cove a leg up. What 
was I saying fust of all?” 

“ That you was born in this liere neighborhood.” 

‘‘ That’s it — that’s what’s weighing on my mind. I was 
^ born in Clare Market, and there ain’t a man, woman, or 
child hereabouts as don’t know me, and as won’t know 
presently that I’m a dead ’un. Tom, I shouldn’t like to 
be taken out of the workshop in a shabby sort of way. 
Don’t shove me under the turf as if I was a pauper. Do 
it in style, old pal, and bury me with feathers!” 

The thing was done. The old man was buried with 
feathers, and Thomas Dexter experienced a solemn satis- 
faction as he gazed at the sable plumes, emblems of tri- 
umphant woe, which nodded at him in approval of his 
dutiful regard to his father’s last wish. In the evening 
he looked over the old man’s clothes, to decide which to- 
keep for personal wear, and which to dispose of for a new 
start in life. Under the mattress was his father’s night- 
cap, which, as he moved the bed, fell with a thud upon 
the floor. Picking it up quickly, and loosening the knot 
with his teeth, fourteen pieces of bright gold came into 
view; also a paper, upon which was written: 

‘‘For my boy, Tom. If he’s buried me with feathers, 
they’ll bring him luck.” 

Deliriously delighted at the discovery of the treasure, 
Thomas Dexter clapped the old-fashioned nightcap on his 
head, and danced, about the room to a tune of his own 
composing, the music being the jingling of the sovereigns 
in the hollowed palms of his hands. 

The next morning being in a more composed frame of 
mind, he took the shop down-stairs, which happened to 
be To Let, and set up as his own master. 

He attended auctions, and bought odds and ends. 
Nothing in the regular way, at regular prices. He knew 
a trick worth two of that. He had a craze for the antique. 
Anything in that line: chipped and cracked china, never 
mind how chipped and cracked; rickety old furniture, 
never mind how rickety; miscellaneous lots, the more 


6 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


miscellaneous the better — these were his hobby; and some 
kind of good luck, or good judgment, or both combined, 
stood always at his elbow, invisibly guarding his interests. 
These ugly, crooked, pock-marked little men generally 
prosper, especially if they live on bread and salt butter, 
or bread and no butter, with an occasional herring, and 
an ample supply of potateos; with perhaps, at long inter- 
vals, a little bit of meat, wisely selected, and bought on 
the political economy principle. And what finer spot in 
all the wide world for living economically is there than 
Clare Market, where the cheapening process goes on un- ' 
ceasingly the whole year through, from early in the morn-'- 
ing till late in the night, when the grease and tar lamps 
are flaring in the wind? 

Little Make-Believe could have told you something 
about that. She was intimately acquainted with all the 
entanglements and tortuous windings of Clare Market, and, 
young as she was, had grown into the habit of lingering 
by the side of pale-faced women who stood before the 
butcher’s board, striving to coax the man in the blue 
flannel apron to take a halfpenny a pound less, or at least 
to cut off a little of the superfluous fat with which the 
' meat was fringed. Efforts which were very rarely success- 
ful. When Little Make-Believe witnessed the conclusion 
of such a bargain she would run to some convenient win- 
dow-sill, where, with an imaginary knife, she would cut 
away all the imaginary fat from* an imaginary piece of 
meat, and hand it to an imaginary poor woman, saying, 
with the air of a trader who is doing a splendid stroke of 
business: 

There! Will that suit yer at tuppence a pound? 
Never mind the money. Pay me when yer like!” 

1 At the end of thirty-three years you might have multi- 
■ plied by fourteen the fourteen sovereigns Thomas Dexter 
found in his father’s old-fashioned nightcap, and have 
multiplied that again by fourteen, and you would still 
have fallen short of the extent of his riches. Not that he 
had any idea how much he was worth. That he had no 
disposition to count and gloat over his money and posses- 
sions was a sufficient proof that the grain of his nature was 
not mercenary. He was simply a man engrossed in his 
business, and he attended to it patiently and shrewdly un- 
til his shop became crowded with the strangest collection 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. , 


7 


of odds and ends that were ever gathered under one roof. 
He took premises at the back of his shop, and, almost be- 
fore he could look round, they became crowded also. Old 
armor, old brasses, old carvings, old lace, old enamels, 
old furniture, filled every nook and corner, and when a 
certain erratic taste for anything ancient and hideous came 
into vogue, it was as good as a little fortune to him. Pros- . 
perity did not change him in the least. From a crooked, 
pock-marked young man, he grew into a crooked, 
pock-marked middle-aged man; and further on, into • 
a crooked, ugly, pock-marked old man. Despising every- 
thing new, he never, from the day he set up as his own 
master, wore a new coat, a new hat, or anew pair of boots. 
Anything second-hand in the way of clothing suited him 
if it was large enough; and as it was not of the slightest 
consequence if it were many sizes too large, his appearance 
generally was that of a clumsily done-up bundle. As for 
the money he accumulated he kept it anywhere except in 
a bank. In corners of his shop not accessible to customers, 
under the flooring, in the broken ceiling, in the walls, in 
old fiddles, in cobwebbed crevices, tied up in bits of old 
calico and canvas and chamois leather bags. Some of 
these packages looked like diminutive legs of mutton, 
some like fingers and thumbs with large bread poultices 
on them. He had the greatest difficulty in squeezing 
himself of a night into the little room at the back of his 
shop, in which he slept, go packed was it with valuable 
oddments. Suspended over his head, m the shape of a 
net, by means of pieces of string tied to the bare rafters 
of the ceiling, was his fathers nightcap, the tassel, as you 
looked up, being the first part of it that met your eye. -A. 
man of imagination might have conjured up the outlines 
of old DexteFs ghost, standing on his head in his night-- 
cap, in reversal of thedaws of nature, with his legs stick- 
ing upward through the roof. Into this nightcap Thomas , 
Dexter, for many years, had been in the habit of throwing 
an odd piece of gold or silver upon every occasion of his 
making a good bargain, and it was now so heavily weighted 
that, as he lay a-bed gazing up at it, there Avas really a 
danger of the strings giving way, and of its falling upon 
his crooked nose and making it crookeder. But he did 
not attempt to remove this constant source of danger; he 
regarded his father’s nightcap with superstitious reverence, 


8 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


and he bad a fear that if he sliifted its position, even bj a 
hair’s breadth, it might change liis luck. 

He lived all alone, without chick or child. He washed 
and cooked, and did everything for himself. If Cupid 
had possessed a rusty, antiquated arrow, he might have 
sent it in the direction of Dexter’s shop, but Cupid’s ar- 
rows are always new and brightly polished, and such shin- 
ing articles would have been completely wasted upon this 
dealer in odds and ends. One arrow, indeed, had found 
its way to Thomas Dexter’s heart, but that was many 
years ago, and he was now fast growing to be an old man, 
without a soul in the world to love or take care of him. 
As for an occasional kiss from or upon a pair of fresh 
young lips, he had forgotten the taste of such a thing — 
assuming, of course, that he had ever enjoyed it. Kiss- 
ing, indeed! What time did any person suppose Thomas 
Dexter had for kissing! 


THOMAS dexter’s ROMAKCE. 

The slight reference to the arrow which many vears 
ago had found its way to Thomas Dexter’s heart furnishes 
material for detail — which shall be brief as woman’s love. 

Yes, Thomas Dexter had had his romance. The scene 
was Clare Market, the time twelve years ago. He was 
treating himself to a cheap stroll through the busy 
thoroughfares when, stopping for a moment at a vegetable 
stall, his eyes suddenly met the eyes of Polly Cleaver. 
She was no stranger to him, being a native of the locality. 
He must have seen her thousands of times, and he had 
never given her a thought; certainlv it never entered his 
mind to pay her the slightest attention. But his time 
liad now arrived — and the woman. A magnetic spark 
flashed from Polly’s eyes into his. Thomas Dexter’s 
heart was lost, and Polly Cleaver the winner. 

Love is blind; but to bo blind is not necessarily to be 
foolish. Mortals deprived of sight are as a rule shrewd 
enough. Some are cunning; some are cruel; few are 
thoroughly simple. Love is an exception, however, being 
frequently foolish as well as blind. 

Of course it was Saturday night. If any prince in 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


9 


disguise wished to seek for adventures in London streets, 
let him select Saturday night for the enterprise. Then 
come out the toilers and moilers, the pleasure-seekers, the 
pain-reapers. Girls who have been at work all the week 
flit about like butterflies, and enjoy blissful moments, 
meeting their lovers, and helping to fill the theaters and 
music halls. The streets and public-houses are thronged; 
the sky is lurid with the reflection of myriad gas jets. 
From the garrets and the cellars creep strange figures into 
the light — the old, the decrepit, the solitary drinker, the 
stranger among millions, the man whom nobody knows, 
the child whom nobody owns, the wretch in hiding, the 
undiscovered murderer. It is the holiday hour of the 
week. 

Polly Cleaver was not alone. Her father was by her 
side, v/ith a glass or two, or more correctly speaking, the 
contents of a pewter pot or two in him. In which respect 
Polly was his match, and therefore, prudence might have 
suggested, no match for Thomas Dexter. But when was 
love prudent? 

The girl was not even pretty, and she and her family 
were certainly not respectable. All sorts of queer stories 
of Polly’s “goings on” were current. Thomas Dexter 
did not think of this when he went home on that Satur- 
day night with the image of Polly Cleaver in his mind’s 
eye. Polly Cleaver — Polly Cleaver! He could think of 
nothing but Polly Cleaver. What eyes she had!- What a 
complexion! What a laughing mouth, what large white 
teeth! He idealized every feature in her face, every 
movement of her body. The man was possessed. 

He passed a bad night, and he might have had a fever 
had he not found his way to Polly Cleaver’s lodgings on 
the following day, which in the natural order of time was 
Sunday. . 

Mr. Cleaver, who had been all his life a carpenter out 
of work, met Thomas Dexter on the stairs, as that love- 
lorn mortal was mounting to the second-floor back, in 
which the Cleavers resided. 

“Hallo!” cried Mr. Cleaver. “What brings you 
here?” 

What could Thomas Dexter reply to this straight thrust 
except, “I’ve come to see how Polly is.” 

Mr. Cleaver opened his eyes very wide, and then, with a 


10 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


broad grin, gently laid the forefinger of his right hand on. 
the right side of his purple nose. 

Polly, he shouted, here^s Mr. Dexter wants to 
know how you are!’’ 

Oh, I’m all right,” said Polly, making her appear- 
ance at the door, and looking down upon the two men. 
‘‘ And how do yer find yourself, Mr. Dexter?” 

In his confusion, Thomas Dexter replied: 
i ‘‘ I’m as well as can be expected, Polly.” 

! An answer which sent her into fits of laughter. 

Now this laughter was sweet music in Thomas Dexter’s 
ears, and Polly Cleaver a vision of loveliness in his eyes. 
Her hair was hanging loose, her boots were down at heel, 
and she was in a general state of untidiness; but Venus 
herself in negligee could not have more completely en- 
thralled him. 

Polly continued to laugh, holding her sides, and pres- 
ently tottered down a step or two, and cried. 

Ketch me, Mr. Dexter, or I shall fall!” 

He, nothing loath, caught her to his heart, which went 
a thousand a minute. Polly had not lain in his arms as 
long as she could count three before she knew what was 
the matter with him. These inspirations of knowledge 
are womjin’s peculiar gift. Besides, it was not the first 
time Polly had been hugged. 

^^I thought,” she simpered, looking up into Thomas 
Dexter’s face, without attempting to release herself from 
his embrace, that yer might be going to ask me to go to 
church with yer.” 

‘‘ That’s Just what I should like to ask yer, Polly,” said 
Thomas Dexter. 

“Well, then,” exclaimed Mr, Cleaver, while Polly 
laughed immoderately, “ arks her, and we’ll get the wed- 
ding dress made— if you give us the money for it.” 

Something like match-making, this. Striking the nail 
on the head; no shilly-shallying. Sudden as it was, it 
accorded with Thomas Dexter’s humor. 

“I don’t mind doing that,” he responded, holding 
Polly tight. “ What do yer say, Polly?” 

“ What do you say, Mr. Dexter?” asked Polly, fencing. 
She was inclined to look upon the whole affair as a joke, 
though the prospect of the present of the wedding dress 
had caught her fancy. 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


11 


** I say, will yer have me, Polly?” 

don’t mind,” answered Polly, gazing in wonder at 
her ardent lover, adding quickly, ‘‘if you’re not joking 
with me.” 

“He’d better not,” 'said Mr. Cleaver, spitting in the 
palm of his right hand, and rubbing that and the palm of 
his left together — an action which every Briton under- 
stands. “If he makes a fool of my Polly I’ll have it out 
of him.” 

“You shut up, father,” exclaimed Polly, “ I’m old 
enough to take care of myself.” 

“ What!” cried Thomas Dexter pointing to Polly, who 
had released herself, and was now standing a little apart 
from him. “ Make a fool of a gal like that! What do 
you take me for?” 

“ Wait a bit,’’ said Polly; “ I’m considering.” 

There was the new dress; there was the excitement of a 
wedding; there was the novelty of getting married. 
Although she .had had any number of lovers, not one had 
ever asked her to marry him. 

“ Do you mean,” inquired she, planting her two fists in 
her sides, “without any gammon, that yer want ter 
marry me?” 

“ That’s the way to put it,” said Mr. Cleaver, with 
approving nods. 

“ It’s exactly what I do mean,” said Thomas Dexter, 
in an imploring tone, as though scarcely daring to hope 
that such bliss could fall to his share. “ If you say yes, I 
shall be the happiest man in Clare Market.” 

“ I’d like to see the man as’d dispute it,” said Mr. 
Cleaver. “Whoever gets my Polly gets a treasure.” 

“ You needn’t shove your spoke in, father. Mr. Dex- 
ter knows all about me; he wasn’t born yesterday.” 

“ That’s true, Polly,” said Thomas f)exter, somewhat 
ruefully. “ I’m a good bit older than you.” 

“ Oh, that don’t make no difference,” said Polly, 
scratching her head. “Yer won’t cry off, will yer? You’ll 
give me a dress?” 

“ I’ll give yer two,” said Thomas Dexter, eagerly. 

“ I’ll take ’em; I ain’t proud. And as you’re as serious 
as all that about it. I’ll have yer. Give us a kiss.” 

He gave her a dozen, and while tliis was going on, Mr. 
Cleaver sat on the stairs, and shed tears, which he con- 


12 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


sidered to be the regulation duty of a father, especially of 
the father of such a girl as Polly. 

There, that’s enough,” said Polly, pushing Thomas 
Dexter away. ‘^You’ve rumpled me all over. You’d 
best make yourself scarce, you and father, while I tidy 
myself a bit.” 

Son-in-law,” said Mr. Cleaver, dabbing his eyes with 
a colored handkerchief, ‘‘you’ve got the price of a pint 
about yer. The proper thing to do is to wet the match.” 

“ Pve no objection,” said infatuated Thomas Dexter. 

“ Come along, then,” said Mr. Cleaver, seizing Thomas 
Dexter, and hurrying him down-stairs, “ we’ll drink Polly’s 
health, and the babby’s.” 

“ Stop a minute,” cried Polly, “ Pll jine yer. If any- 
body ought be in this, it’s me!” 

How many times they drank Polly’s health, and how 
many healths they drank after Polly had been sufficiently 
toasted, is not easy to say. What Thomas Dexter had 
good cause to remember was that he rose the next morn- 
ing with a splitting headache, and that three weeks after- 
ward he and Polly Cleaver were married. 

They lived together for just two months, and then they 
parted. The plain truth is that Polly ran away. A re- 
spectable life did not suit her, and so, to use her own 
word, she “ turned it up.” 

When Thomas Dexter awoke from his dream, and dis- 
covered his mistake, he tried to make the best of it. He 
remonstrated and argued with Polly, but his remon- 
strances were thrown away upon her, and her arguments 
were stronger than his — consisting of anything in the 
hardware line she could lay her hands on. She was at 
once incorrigible and honest. “ I was never cut out for 
a married woman,” she said. She had old acquaintances- 
whom she would not give up “for the best man that ever 
v/ore shoe leather.” Among these acquaintances was Holy 
Joe, a costermonger, so called because he was in the habit 
of making an open scoff of religion. Not to put too fine 
a point upon it. Holy Joe was an old lover of Polly’s, and 
her declaration that she was not cut out for a married 
woman received sufficient endorsement a week after the 
wedding by Thomas Dexter finding his wife, and her 
father, and Holy Joe gloriously drunk in company on his 
doorstep. 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


13 


His little finger’s worth a dozen of yer!” cried Polly 
to her husband, putting her arm round Holy Joe’s neck. 

“ Don’t make a cussed fool of yerself, Polly,” cried 
Holy Joe, tucking up his sleeves and addressing himself 
to Thomas Dexter: Look here, two-pennorth of all 

sorts, ril fight yer for her! I can’t say fairer nor that.” 

I’ve made a bad bargain,” thought Thomas Dexter, 
gazing perplexedly at the three inebriates. 

The fact was that Polly could not live out of the streets 
and the public-houses. 

Do yer think,” she said indignantly to a lady friend, 
as they stood at the bar of The Maiden’s Blush with two 
glasses of gin before them, ‘‘ that I’m going to live witli 
a man as begrudges me a pint of fourpenny? Not good 
enough for Polly! Wants to make a regular slave of me, 
too. Growls at me when breakfast ain’t ready, and cusses 
me when I tell him to go to the cook-shop to get his din- 
ner. He don’t even know how to cuss! Stops in the 
middle and begs my pardon, the mean thief! I give him 
a dose this morning — broke every blessed bit of crockery 
there was in the place; and he didn’t as much as tiirow a 
plate at me. Why, Holy Joe ’d have broke my neck if I’d 
tried that game on with him! Call hisself a man! He 
ain’t arf a man. * Says he don’t care for theayters, and 
wouldn’t take me to the Middlesex to hear Leybourne and 
Kitty Corcoran. Live with a feller like that! Not me! 
It don’t suit Polly’s book. I’m free and easy, that’s what 
I am, and I’ll do as I please, in spite of fifty Tommy 
Dexters. Here! Give us another quartern of gin. 
Hallo, Joe! Who’d ha’ thought of seeing you here!” 

That night Polly “took up” with Holy Joe, “for 
better or wus,” she said, with a laugh, and Thomas Dex- 
ter was left to mourn. 

He did not mourn long. Now that his eyes were opened, 
liis fear was that Polly would come back from time to 
time, and make his life intolerable. She did not, how- 
ever; she was so far honest in her attachment to Holy 
Joe, that she made no attempt to worry her husband or to • 
get money out of him; and, fortunately in the cause of 
peace. Holy Joe left Clare Market, and pitched his tent 
in the far East, Bethnal Green way. Her father made 
many efforts to induce her to extract money from her 
liusband, but she would not listen to him, and the chain 


14 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


of parental authority was snapped by Holy Joe turning 
Mr. Cleaver out of the one room in which Polly lived 
with her costermonger, and warninff him, if he returned, 
that his neck would be twisted. Then Mr. Cleaver en- 
deavored to obtain a hold on Thomas Dext,er by going to 
him and reviling Polly, but Mr. Dexter would have noth- 
ing to do with him. The end of Mr. Cleaver was that he 
died of a day’s work. 

In the course of two or three years Thomas Dexter almost 
forgot Polly entirely, almost forgot that he bad ever been 
married, almost forgot that he had ever been in lore. He 
could undoubtedly have been released by law from the 
yoke of matrimony had he sued for a divorce, but he would 
not trouble himself. From that time forward bethought 
no more of women. A seal was put upon his romance, ia 
its sentimental aspect, which was never to be removed. 


A LITTLE PRETENDER. 

As much as is necessary to be known of Thomas Dexter’s 
early history being disclosed, Little Make-Believe claims 
attention. Come, then, into the light, flower of the gut- 
ter, and show yourself to unaccustomed eyes. Those that 
are in the habit of seeing you take so little notice of yon 
that the doubt may well arise whether, as a study, you are 
in any way interesting. You are so familiar a 6gure that, 
like the rising of the sun, but small regard is paid to 
you. A grand simile. Little Make-Believe; be proud of 
it, if in your humble soul you can find room for pride in^ 
anything. But here and there, young child, there beats 
a pulse of tenderness for you which may one day be of 
benefit to your sister flowers. Of whom there are myriads. 
Come, and let the light shine on you. 

To grace such as you by comparing you to a flower 
may excite ridicule. A very weed in appearance, whose 
presence mars the loveliness of the garden. Nevertheless, 
you began as great souls began, and there were in you 
possibilities of worthy things which might one day have^ 
ripened into beauty. 

No time, however, for idle speculation. In the midst 
of a world of shams you stand clearly out, a stern fact. 
It is the fashion with many to call you a problem, and 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


15 


though you will hardly believe yourself to be of importance, 
you are, in the aggregate, a most formidable figure in the 
social system of to-day. 

At all events she was not an indolent creature; she 
worked, being, like Thomas Dexter, a general dealer. 
But her business was much more circumscribed than his, 
and lay in quite a different direction. She dealt only in 
one article, being brimstonely conservative; that article 
was matches. One half-penny a box. Or a farthing. Or 
anything you choose to give her, A gentleman once gave 
her sixpence for a box, and when she said, with a shake 
of her head, I ain’t got no change, sir,” he told her he 
did not want any, and walked away. This was so won- 
derful an event that she talked of it for months after- 
ward, and would often conjure up imaginary gentlemen, 
who gave her imaginary sixpences for imaginary boxes of 
matches, with which she treated herself to imaginary 
feasts. Sometimes she had no matches to sell. Then 
she went about pretending. But, as you already know, 
she did that at other times as well. 

She had a father, who was such a favoritfe with publicans 
and policemen, that they very rarely let him out of their 
sight. They played with him as they would have played 
at trap, bat, and ball. From publican to policeman, when 
the publican was done with him, and from policeman to 
publican when the policeman was done with him, was as 
regularly to be depended on as the changing of day into 
night and night into day. ‘ Which suggests a comparison 
between Little Make-Beli5ve’s father and the earth, the 
observable difference being that when Little Make-Believe’s 
father turned round on his axis it was with a more eccen- 
tric motion than we attribute to the earth. Generally in 
liis movements, and especially when the publican passed 
him on to the policeman, mathematical niceties were con- 
spicuous by their absence. When the policeman passed 
him back to the publican he exhibited a more improved 
method, which, as a rule, lasted no longer than an hour. 
Speaking in a comprehensive sense, with a wide applica- 
tion in view, publicans and policemen would be very badly 
off were it not for Little Make-Believe’s father. Half of 
them would have to shut up shop, for it is a fact that, 
under Providence, he is the principal means of supplying 
them with their daily bread. If they have a spark of 


16 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


gratitude in them they ought to go down upon their knees 
every night of their lives, and thank God for sending 
them little Make-Believe’s father. 

She had no mother. Perhaps she ought to have thanked 
God for that. 

Notwithstanding the fondness of publicans and police- 
men for her father. Little Make-Believe did not live 
alone. She had a sister, a year and a half younger than 
herself. This sister’s name was originally Sarah Anne. 
Now, by a singularly happy twist. Little Make-Believe 
had invested this somewhat plebeian name with quite an 
aristocratic flavor. She called her sister Saranne. Beat 
that if you can, you Smiths and you Smythes. 

It is a fact that Little Make-Believe was always pretend- 
ing, and living for a great portion of her time an inner 
life, as it were, she did not envy the Queen. 

There was one advantage in having a father. It de- 
volved on him to provide a home for his children. This 
home, in the matter of rent, cost him on an average about 
eighteen pence a week, which he sometimes paid, and 
sometimes didn’t. Generally, didn’t. It was invariably 
either at the very top or the very bottom of the house; 
never in the middle. Now it was a garret, now a cellar. 
At the present time it was a cellar. Having provided this 
home, he provided nothing else. That was Little Make- 
Believe’s affair. He hired a roof for his daughters to sleep 
under, and then, metaphorically, he washed his hands 
of them. Otherwise, he seldom washed his hands. 

But although he gave his children a roof, by a strange 
oversight he did not give them a bed. The builder did 
that — the bare boards. 

Saranne was a beautiful child, with a lovely mouth, 
curly hair, large, gray, wistful eyes, and a skin as smooth 
as new velvet. When she was a baby, another baby, a few 
months older than herself, who was fond of carrying her 
about, let her fall down-stairs, and she had hurt her spine.. 
She grew up very delicate, and was nearly always lying on 
the boards of the cellar, or the garret, as the*^case hap- 
pened to be, resting herself into strength. This was 
Little Make-Believe’s strict injunction, the inspiration of 
which she had derived from a friend who had been kind 
to her for a little while, and who might have remained 
her friend had not death claimed him. He was a doctor 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


17 


who, on a mission of charity, had found his way into her 
neighborhood:^ She waited for him outside the house in 
which he was engaged, and when he appeared she went 
close to him, and touched his arm. He looked down, 
and saw this small morsel of humanity looked pleadingly 
up at him. He saw the struggle in her eyes, in which 
trembling courage was striving to conquer fear. It was 
no light task this little girl had set herself; he was so 
high, she so low; he was so rich, she so poor; he was so 
great, she so insignificant. But when the chord of a 
sweet humanity is struck and finds its way to the heart, 
these contrasts merge into a heavenly equality. 

You are the great doctor, sir?” inquired Little Make- 
Believe. 

“ I am a doctor, child,” he replied, kindly. 

‘‘I hardly dare to arks yer, sir,” said Little Make-Be- 
lieve, ^‘but I’ve got a little sister with a weak back, and 
if you’d come and see her there’s nothink I wouldn’t do 
for yer. It ain’t fur, sir, jest round the corner ” 

He looked at his watcli; he had ten minutes to spare. 
He opened the door of his carriage, and Little Make-Be- 
lieve clung to the skirts of his coat, fearing that he was 
about to leave her. 

will see your little sister,” he said. ‘‘Jump in.” 

“Oh,” cried Little Make-Believe, “the kerridge can’t 
get up our court! It’s only a stone’s throw, sir.” 

“Walk quickly, then,” he said; “I have but a few 
minutes I can call my own.’^ 

He bade his coachman wait for him, and he followed 
Little Make-Believe, and was pleased to find that she had 
not deceived him in the distance. 

Upon entering the wretched room in which Saranne 
was lying, he took in the situation at a glance. In his 
-earlier days he had had a large experience of the homes of 
the poor. 

While he was examining Saranne he asked her where 
her mother was. 

“There she is, sir,” said Saranne, pointing to Little 
Make-Believe. 

“Where’s your mothof?” he asked of Little Make-Be- 
lieve. 

“Ain’t got none, sir.” 

“ Where’s your father?” 


18 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


Doing a month, sir.” 

Who keeps the family, then?” 

I do, sir.” 

‘‘ Ah. Come and see me to-morrow morning before 
ten o’clock. Here is my card. If you can’t read, ask 
some person to tell you where I live.” 

He was about to leave the poor room when an incident 
occurred. 

Little Make-Believe had heard somewhere that when a 
great doctor visited a patient he was accustomed to have 
his fee handed to him wrapped in paper. 

Determined to be in the fashion. Little Make-Believe 
had prepared accordingly, and she now slipped into the 
doctor’s hand a torn piece of newspaper, in which some 
coins were wrapped. 

‘‘ What’s this, what’s this?” exclaimed the doctor; and 
Little Make-Believe’s heart sank within her, for she 
thought he was angry at the smallness of the fee. 

‘‘It’s every copper I’ve got, sir,” said Little Make- 
Believe, nervously. “ Don’t say I mustn’t come and see 
yer, sir — don’t! If I get a bit of luck, I’ll pay yer what- 
ever yer asks!” 

He opened the paper, and found therein two pennies 
and a halfpenny. Little Make-Believe was not wise 
enough to read the expression in his face; but indeed she 
could scarcely see for the tears in her eyes. 

“ It is a very good fee, child,” said the doctor, and his 
hand for a moment rested lightly on her head. “ Go 
now, and attend to your sister: and don’t forget to see 
me to-morrow before ten.” 

“Ho, sir, I won’t forgit,” said little Make-Believe, joy- 
fully. “ You are a kind gentleman!” 

He turned, paused at the door, then stepped to the side 
of Little Make-Believe, who was sitting by Saranne. 

“ Hever mind the fee,” he said, handing her back the 
paper. “ You can pay me when you grow rich.” 

With that he took his leave, and the sisters were left 
alone. 

“ When I grow rich!” exclaimed Little Make-Believe, 
laughing, and beating her right fist, in which she held 
the doctor’s fee, against the open palm of her left hand. 
“That’s a good ’un. ‘ When I grows rich, Ses the bells 
of Shore-ditch!’” She sang these last words. “Look 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


19 


here, Saraniie. I’m going to shut my eyes, and make 
believe I have grown rich. Now, then. "^What’s in my 
hand? Tuppence ha’penny, and we ain’t got nothink for 
dinner. I ain’t hungry, but yon are, ain’t yer?” 

“ Yes,” sighed Saranne. 

“ Wot’d yer like for dinner?” 

“ Pease-pudden.” 

“ Yes,” said Little- Make- Believe, hereyes tightly closed 
and her fist shut. “Pease-pudden. Anything else?” 

“Plum duff.” 

“ Yes. Plum duff. Anythink else?” 

“Some more plum duff.” 

“Oh, my! Wot a spread! I think I see it! But it 
ain’t much, now Pre growed rich. Let’s make believe 
that tins ’ere tuppence ha’penny’s turned into two and 
six — there’d be a go! We’d have a bottle of ginger beer 
as well, wouldn’t us? Pease-pudden, plum duff, more 
plum duff, and ginger beer!” She smacked her lips as 
though she were enjoying these luxuries, when a sigh from 
Saranne restored her to the reality of the scene. “Never 
mind, Saranne,” she said, opening her eyes, “ it was very 
good of him to give me back the coppers. I can git some 
pease-pudden for yer, at all events. I’ll go to the cook- 
shop, and bring it back on a gold plate set round with 
dymens. I won’t be long, Saranne.” 

She jumped up, and took the paper from the coins the 
doctor had returned to her, and there in her hand lay two 
half-crowns and a shilling. Her amazement and delight 
were unbounded^ but in the midst of her excitement she 
did not forget who it was she had to thank for this bit of 
good fortune. 

“ It’s as good as a pantermine,’^ she cried. “ He’s the 
best harlequin I ever sor.” 

She ran from the room, and soon returned with a dinner 
such as 'she and Saranne had not enjoyed for many a long 
day, and when she took a pull at the ginger beer, which 
they drank, turn and turn about, out of the bottle, she 
gave a toast: “Good luck to him. May he live long, and 
die happy!” 

Certainly not more than half this wish can be said to 
have been fulfilled, for within a fortnight the good doctor 
died. He lived long enough, however, to impress upon 
Little Make-Believe that if she wished Saranne to grow 


20 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


strong it was necessary that the child should rest a great 
deal until she was nine or ten years old; she was not to be 
allowed to run in the streets or carry weights; then there 
was a chance of Saranne getting over the weakness in her 
back, and of her not being a cripple for life. He had 
some benevolent idea respecting the children, which, had 
he lived, would probably have been of benefit to them, 
but death stepped in and prevented its execution. 

Little Make-Believe cheerfully took up the burden, and 
was sister, mother, and father to Saranne, who lived a life 
of idleness while her brave sister toiled for her. During 
Saranne’s lonely hours one idea warmed her, comforted 
her: ‘^My dear Little Make-Believe will soon be home!’^ ■ 
Crooked, ugly, pock-marked as she was. Little Make- 
Believe had a constitution of iron. Otherwise how could 
slie have stood the wind and the rain and the snow which 
beat about and played their cruel pranks upon her thinly- 
clad body when she was in the streets? Frequently for 
fourteen or fifteen hours out of the twenty-four was she 
trudging up and down, hunting for bread for Saranne and 
feeding on dreams herself. Her usual clothing consisted 
of a cliemise and a frock — nothing more, liail, rain, snow, 
or blow. Had she been presented with a flannel petticoat 
it is not unlikely she would liave gone witli it to a police- 
man, and said, Somebody’s made a mistake.” On sec- 
ond thoughts, however, it is not probable she would have 
acted- in this way. She would have taken the flannel 
petticoat home to Saranne. 

Little Make-Believe and Thomas Dexter became ac- 
quainted in the following manner. 

Standing at the door of his shop one evening, there 
marched past him on the pavement the queerest procession 
of children he had ever seen. He had not many idle half- 
hours, but this happened to be one. There were in all 
some fourteen or fifteen children, the poorest in Clare 
Market, and you may be sure they were not dressed in 
silks and satins. Their garments, except in the matter of 
value, resembled the stock in his shop — they consisted of 
odds and ends. Perhaps half-a-dozen had caps or hats, 
one of them a woman’s old bonnet several sizes too large 
for her, fathers’ worn-out trousers cut down, some too 
short, some too long, mothers’ worn-out gowns similarly 
adapted, three or four with one boot and one shoe; a 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


21 


ragged regiment indeed. Eacli of them carried a stick 
with apiece of paper tied to it to represent a flag. At the 
head of the regiment marched Little Make-Believe, her 
high rank being designated by the color of her paper flag, 
which was bine, the others being white. 

It was the first week in December, and the day had 
been cold and fine — a common phrase which had some- 
thing of mockery in it in connection with these poor chil- 
dren. Cold they knew it to be; that it was fine they 
would have vehemently denied. They were shivering now 
as they passed Thomas Dexter’s shop. There was a spice of 
comfort in the circumstance that it was evening, and that 
the shops were being lighted up. 

Thomas Dexter had seen Little Make-Believe hundreds 
and hundreds of times without noticing her, as in tlie old 
days lie had seen Polly Cleaver hundreds and hundreds of 
times without noticing her, and it is likely that the rag- 
ged regiment would have marched past him witliout at- 
tracting his attention had not a man accosted them in his 
hearing. 

‘‘Isay, kiddies,” cried this man, “what are you up 
to?” 

“We’re going to fight the savages,” was the reply. 

“ Ha! ha!” laughed the man. “ Going to fight the sav- 
ages, are you? AVell — mind you give it ’em hot, for the 
glory of Old England! Hit ’em hard, they’ve got no 
friends! Who’s your captain?” He put his hand under 
the girl’s chin, and raised her head. “Why, it’s Little 
Make-Believe!” 

When the old man told the children to “give it ’em 
hot, for the glory of Old England,” he spoke satirically. 
But what he said in bitter jest, other and greater author- 
ities than he were repeating in triumph, for had not the 
whole nation been ringing that day with the accounts of 
a grand victory gained by British soldiers and British 
guns over a wild band of naked savages? To judge from 
the pgeans sung in the newspapers, nor ancient Rome or 
Greece could supply instances of such prodigious valor 
as that displayed by our trooiis in what was at best but a 
miserable skirmish. 

“ March!” cried a boy, and the ragged regiment, with 
Little Make-Believe at" its head, disappeared down the 


22 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


street. This boy, who was nicknamed Dot-and-carry-one 
because he walked with a limp, was the real head of tne 
expedition. It was an expedition with a serious object in 
view, for which Dot-and-carry-one was responsible. 

It had not escaped the attention of the man who had 
accosted the children that Little Make-Believe’s face was 
whiter than usual, and that she exhibited symptoms of 
suffering singularly at variance with the exaltation with 
which her position and the blue paper flag she carried 
should naturally have filled her soul. But in the very^ 
whirl of the highest forms of mental rapture there are 
human feelings which will not be denied. Hunger is one. 

Little Make-Believe had been selected to take the sup- 
posed command of the expedition by virtue of the reputa- 
tion she had gained of always pretending. It was at the 
suggestion of Dot-and-carry-one that the office was be- 
stowed upon her. The cunning young rascal, who, de- 
spite his tender years, was sufficiently gifted to devise any 
act of mild villainy, and sufficiently brave to assist in it so 
long as he could keep himself out of danger (in this re- 
spect resembling more advanced humans that way in- 
clined), had formed a very definite scheme of plunder by 
which his stomach was to be substantially benefited. In 
furtherance of his scheme he had gathered his band of 
juvenile waifs and strays, and had supplied them with 
flags, with which they were mightily tickled. The last 
soldier he enlisted was Little Make-Believe. 

He found her sitting disconsolately on a doorstep. She 
was in truth in the saddest of moods. It was seldom that 
her good spirits deserted her, but she had not tasted food 
that day; and she had, besides, even a stronger cause for 
despondency. 

In the morning she had had left, from her stock of the 
previous day, four boxes of matches. These she had 
sold for twopence, with which she had purchased food 
for Saranne, taking it home to her sister, and sitting 
patiently by while it was eaten, touching not a morsel of 
it herself. 

‘‘ It ain’t arf enough,” said Saranne; my stomach’s as 
empty as a bandbox with nothink in it.” 

‘‘ What’d yer like for supper?” asked Little Make-Be- 
lieve, with a remarkable assumption of cheerfulness con- 
sidering the state of her own stomach. 




LITTLE MAKE-BELIEYE. 


23 


** A pie,” replied Saranne, her lips at work in anticipa- 
tion, a meat pie.” 

All right,” said Little Make-Believe, Til get yer 
-one, Saranne.” 

She spoke with the air of a person who possessed a 
anagic ring, with which she intended to go direct to an 
Aladdin’s cave filled with meat pies. 

She had a firm faith in her own resources, and believed, 
if they fiiiled, that something would turn up to lead to 
the fulfillment of Saranne’s wish. As she went out into 
the streets she indulged in delightful visions — saw shops 
crammed with meat pies, smoking hot, and a man with a 
beaming countenance behind the counter, to whom she 
appeared and said, ‘^‘’Ere, old chap, give us arf-a-dozen.” 
She went home, and laid them before Saranne, who said, 
^‘You’re somethink like a sister! Take a bite at one 
yerself!” The airiest of airy imaginings. The afternoon 
waned, and the meat pies were as far off as the Promised 
Land. 

Then she began to despair. Not for herself. Hunger 
she had borne, and could bear. She suffered not only 
from her own pangs, but from Saranne’s. She looked 
upon it as a crime tliat she could not satisfy Saranne’s 
longing. Her loving heart made her self-tormenting 
most unbearable. 

She tried hard, very hard, to obtain a copper or two; 
went to the shop where she bought her matches, and 
implored the man to give her credit for a dozen boxes, 
strengthening her appeal by the solemn declaration, 

‘^May I never drink another drop o’ water if 1 don’t 
pay yer honest to-morrer morning! I’m sure to sell ’em, 
sir, if I stop out all night. Won’t yer, sir, won’t yer?” 

No, he would not, and "was not to be blamed for it, 
being himself a struggling man with an enormous family 
— triplets the last presentation, for which he received 
three pounds from Her Majesty the Queen. Mournfully 
Little Make-Believe left the shop, and it is not too much 
to say that if Satan himself had suddenly appeared, and 
had proposed to make a bargain with her in that brimstone 
depot she would have jumped at any reasonable offer. 
-She ventured in the streets to pull the coat tails of benev- 
olent-looking gentlemen, but she was impatiently shaken 
off, and each time fell back, fearful lest dreadful conse- 


24 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


qnences should follow her boldness. The persons from 
whom she endeavored to obtain practical sympathy for her 
silent agony were not, in the main, of an unkindly nature, 
but these appeals were so common, the streets were so full 
of imploring faces! If by a miracle it could one day happen 
that angels should descend from heaven, and by a simul- 
taneous Divine movement lift the weight of suffering 
from the hearts of those in want of food, a flood of such 
sweet sunshine would illumine the narrow thoroughfare* 
of the modern Babylon that this City of Pain would sud- 
denly become a very garden of glad souls! 

On the doorstep sat Little Make-Believe, worn out and 
exhausted by the struggle. To her, accompanied by the 
children he had enlisted in his enterprise, familiar faces 
all of them, appeared Dot-and-carry-one. 

‘^Grit up,” said he, ^‘you’re wanted.” 

This was so judicial a summons that Little Make- 
Believe looked round for the policeman who had come to 
seize her for some unknown crime. Seeing no officer of 
the law, her head sank upon her breast again. 

Don’t yer hear?” cried Dot-and-carry-one. You’re 
wanted.” 

What for?” asked Little Make-Believe, in a listless 
tone. 

<< We’re going to play one of your games,” replied Dot- 
and-carry-one. We’re going to pretend.” 

Little Make-Believe shook her head; she had no heart 
for games, not even for the game which had become al- 
most a second nature to her. 

“ Let me alone,” she said. 

Some unaccustomed note of suffering in her voice caused 
Dot-and-carry-one to stoop and lower his face to the level 
of hers. 

What’s the matter with yer?” he Inquired, less from 
compassion than from curiosity. 

I’m almost starving,” she said, and Saranne’s 
waiting at home for grub, and I ain’t got none to give 
her. I can’t play no games, ’cause I ain’t got strength 
to crawl.” 

If yer’ll play this game,” said Dot-and-carry-one, 

yer’ll git lots o’ grub for the pair on yer. I ain’t gam- 
moning.” 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 25 

^MV'hat sort o’ grub?” asked Little Make-Believe, in- 
credulously. 

Pies.” 

With a glad cry Little Make-Believe jumped to her feet. 
The mention of pies and the prospect of possessing them 
were like wine to her, A pie was the very thing Saranne 
expected her to bring home. For a moment or two she 
throbbed with ecstasy; then came a revulsion. Had not 
Dot-and-carry-one said they were only going to pretend? 
He saw the doubt in her face. 

Don’t be a little fool,” he said. We’re going to 
pretend to fight the savages. The chief of ’em is Mike 
the Pieman, and we’ll tackle him fust. He’s waiting 
for us to play the game, and the Government’s going to 
pay him for the pies.” 

This last statement was perhaps the most daring and 
original declaration Dot-and-carry-one had ever made; in 
his way the lad was a genius, and quick in device when 
a questionable transaction was in view. 

Little Make-Believe did not pause to consider; she 
thought only of Saranne, and accepting the flag handed 
to her by Dot-and-carry-one, took her allotted place at 
the head of the ragged regiment. The children set up a 
cheer when they saw her there. Little Make-Believe was 
a great favorite with them. 


WHAT OCCURKED TO THE EXPEDITION COMMANDED BY 

LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE AGAINST MLKE THE PIEMAN. 

Mike the Pieman was a little shriveled up old man, 
who had been in the pie business for more years than 
anyone in the neighborhood could remember. His stand 
was on the curb outside the principal entrance of The 
Maiden’s Blush, and he drove a roaring trade, seldom 
going home without his entire stock being cleared out. 
He made only one sort of pie. What sort of pie that pie 
was no man knew except himself, and no man inquired. 
The only thing of which a buyer could be sure of was, 
that the pies were very hot, in temperature and seasoning. 
Charity covereth a multitude of sins; so does seasoning. 
There* was a legend that Mike the Pieman was very 
rich. That is scarcely probable, for a fortune is not to be 


26 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEYE. 


made out of one pie can; it is likely, however, that lie was 
well-to-do, for he was a close-fisted old fellow, who was 
never known to give away a pie or to sell one under price. 

‘‘Halt!’’ cried Dot-and-carry-one, and his ragged regi- 
ment came to a stand-still within a few yards of The 
Maiden’s Blush. 

“ There he is,” said the young scamp, “ there’s the 
chief of the savages. He’s got a extra hot lot o’ pies run- 
ning over with gravy, which he’s made especially for us. 
I can taste ’em aforehand — can’t you?” The sight of all 
those hungry mouths working would have been a sight to 
remember. “ He knows we’re here,” continued Dot-and- 
carry-one, “but he mustn’t take no notice of us till we 
goes up to him, or the Government wouldn’t pay him for 
the pies he’s made for us. If yer knew the Juicy stuff- 
lie’s put in them pies yer mouths ’d water to that extent 
that yer wouldn’t be able to speak. Now this is what 
you’ve got to do. When Isay Forward! — which I sha’n’t 
cry loud in case he should hear us — you’ll all on yerfoller 
Little Make-Believe straight to old Mike. Then — let me 
see; who’s the strongest boy in this here crowd?” 

“I am!” and “I am!” and “lam!” vociferated every 
one of the boys. 

“ I should say,” said Dot-and-carry-one, “ that Jimmy 
Tyler is.” 

“I’ll fight any two on ’em,” said Jimmy Tyler, with 
defiant looks, “ one down, the other come up!” 

“ And I’ll back yer,” said Dot-and-carry-one, secretly 
exulting in the progress he was making. “ Well, you,. 
Jimmy Tyler, you’ll jump on old Mike’s back the moment 
yer git to him. He’ll like that, will Jimmy, ’cause he 
can stick it on to the Government. I dessay the pair on 
yer ’ll tumble into the road; it’s jest what he wants done 
to him, ’cause he can git what they calls compensation. 
If yer hurt him a bit, all the better. Then all on yer 
jump on him, and tumble him about. He won’t mind — 
he’ll enjoy it! And I should’nt wonder, if yer do it well,^ 
that you’ll all get medals from the Queen. Did yer hear 
what that man said what was standing by Mr. Dexter’s 
shop? ‘ Give it ’em hot,’ he said, ‘ for the glory of old 
England.’ That’s what he said, and that’s what the 
Queen likes, and that’s what we’re going in for. Are 
yer ready?” 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


27 


Yes,” they cried. 

Bat what am I to do?” asked Little Make-Believe. 

[‘YouV’ exclaimed Dot-and-carry-one, somewhat puz- 
zled. “ Oh, you’ll open yer mouth and shut yer eyes 
and see what Gawd’ll send yer!” 

After which direction Dot-and-carry-one looked warily 
around, to see that no policeman was nigh to spoil his 
little game, and then said softly. 

Forward!” 

The Charge of the Light Brigade pales in comparison. 
Before Mike the Pieman knew where he was, Jimmy 
Tyler had jumped on his back and pulled him down into 
the road, where he lay struggling with the six or seven 
young ruffians bent on carrying out the orders of Dot-and- 
oarry-one. 

This young gentleman took no part in the scuffle. 
Directly Mike was down he opened the can, took off his 
oap, and swept into it at least a dozen pies, steaming hot, 
with which he ran off as fast as his legs would carry him. 
It was the work of a moment. The great Napoleon him- 
self could not have executed a strategic movement more 
deftly. And almost before one could say Jack Robin- 
son ” the pies were gone, and the jaws of Dot-and-carry- 
one were devouring them up. 

Meantime, Little Make-Believe did exactly as she was 
told. Siie opened her mouth and shut her eyes and 
waited for what God would send her. The only move- 
ment she made for which she could claim originality was 
to put lier fingers in her ears, to shut out the din of the 
batt le. The paper flag in her hand was thus elevated 
above her head, and seemed to stick out of it like a 
feather. The cries which Mike uttered, a 5 he struggled 
with his foes, seemed to her scarcely real: her senses were 
almost entirely absorbed in eager expectation of being 
able, through the intervention of Providence, to satisfy 
Garan lie’s wish of a pie for supper. 

The battle did not last long. Dot-and-carry-one’s 
proceedings had not been unnoticed by two or three of his 
followers, and he had scarcely disappeared round the cor- 
ner, before other unlawful hands were laid upon Mike’s 
succulent store. All the rest of the regiment followed 
suit, lielping themselves without compunction; and one, 
less selfish than his comrades, seeing Little Make-Believe 


28 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


standing stock still, with her mouth wide open, popped a 
pie into it as he raced past her. 'Idie pie was too large 
and the moutli too small to be disposed of in one bite, and 
would have fallen to the ground had not Little Make-Be- 
lieve hastily caught it. She had tasted it, however, and 
nature was strong within her, nothing in the shape of food 
had entered her mouth during the long, weary day, until 
that moment; her eyes, open now, dilated with gladness; 
greedily she sucked her lips with the gravy on them, and 
in a moment of thoughtlessness was about to take another 
bite, when the figure of Saranne rose before her. It was 
enough. Choking back her hunger, she ran toward her 
home, holding the precious pie close to her breast. 

This was the sight which Mike the Pieman beheld as 
he rose to his feet flashed and filled with anger. All 
the other children had disappeared; only Little Make- 
Believe was in sight, and in her hand food unlawfully be- 
gotten. After her he hobbled furious for revenge. 

Luckily or unluckily for little Make-Believe, his capac- 
ity for pursuit was not of a high order. He suffered 
from periodical attacks of lumbago, and this was one of 
his bad days. Little Make-Believe would have got clear 
off had not Mike resorted to another expedient in the cause 
of justice. He called, or rather gasped, 

“ Stop thief!” 

This cry would have been uttered the moment he bad 
extricated himself from the clutches of ins foes had he not 
been proverbially short of breath, an infirmity which, ag- 
gravated by rage, had for the time deprived him of the 
power of speech. But his compulsorily slow gait, as he 
hobbled after Little Make-Believe, brought back his 
wind, and with it, in a weak state, his voice. 

Twice did the summons to law-abiding citizens escape 
him, and he was about to utter it for the tliird time when 
a violent spasm in the back doubled him up, and he was 
compelled to cling to a lamp-post for support. 

Coming toward him as, he was in this position was the 
man who had addressed the children as they marched past 
Thomas Dexter’s shop. In his progress this man had 
brushed by Little Make-Believe, and had taken notice of 
the pie she was hugging to her breast. With keen insight 
he saw immediately how the matter stood, and decided 
how to act. Influenced by a feeling of compassion, he 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 29 

addressed a policeman who had been attracted by Mike’s 
summons. 

“ Some vagabond’s been stealing Mike’s pies,” he said, 
^‘and the old fellow’s run after him.” 

‘‘Which way has he gone?” inquired the policeman, 
with no special interest in the affair. Mike, as has been 
already stated, never having been known to give away a 
pie for nothing, was, by parity of reasoning, not liberal to 
the police, who, individually or as a body, have no special 
repugnance to hot pies, especially on a cold night. 

“Which way has he gone?” 

“ That way,” replied the man, pointing in an opposite . 
direction to that taken by Little Make-Believe. 

The policeman slowly sauntered toward the indicated 
thoroughfare, and the man, inwardly rejoicing at the 
success of his maneuver, turned his back upon lumbago- 
stricken Mike, and more swiftly pursued Little Make-Be- 
lieve, She, hearing hurried steps behind her, quickened 
her own, but she was no match for her pursuer, who over- 
took her and laid his hand upon her shoulder just as she 
reached the door of Thomas Dexter’s shop. Then came 
suddenly upon her the full and true consciousness of her 
act. In fancy she saw the helmet, the truncheon, the 
dock, the magistrate^ the lockup. The strength with 
which exaltation of spirit had inspired her weak form 
deserted her at the touch of this hand upon her shoulder, 
and overpowered with terror she cowered down at Thomas 
Dexter’s feet. 

“What’s the matter?” inquired Thomas Dexter, gazing 
on the crouching form. 

Little Make-Believe did not stir. Quick of fancy, she 
was realizing the horror of her position. It harrowed her 
vicariously. What would Saranne do? How would she 
get food— -when her sister, her child-mother, could no 
longer provide for her? 

“There’s nothing to be frightened at,” said the man, 
raising Little Make-Believe from the ground. “I sent 
the policeman off on a wrong scent. So you’ve been 
despoiling the Egyptians? But do you want to be taken 
red-handed? Why don’t you eat your pie? They couldn’t 
cut you open to prove the larceny.” 

“ It’s for my sister, Saranne.” murmured Little Make- 


30 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


Believe, by no means sure whether kindness or treachery 
was intended. 

‘^For your sister Saranne?’’ said the man. But your- 
self, little ’un — you look hungry enough to eat a brick 
am,’’ sighed Little Make-Believe. 

When did you have your last meal?” 
had two potatoes last night.” 

And since then?” 

^^Nothink.” 

Come, come,” said the man, ^^eat the pie. Never 
mind your sister Saranne.” 

‘‘ Let me go — let me go!” cried Little Make-Believe, 
and she twisted herself from his kindly grasp. ^‘You’re 
a wicked, wicked beast!” 

And before the man could recover from his astonish- 
ment, she had disappeared. 

What do you think of that for heroism?” asked the 
man of Thomas Dexter. ‘‘Could a princess show higher 
qualities than that ragged morsel of humanity? 81ie can 
forget her own hunger — with savory food at her very lips 
can withstand the temptation — because she has a little 
sister at home to whom she plays the part of mother. If 
I had a penny to spare I’d give it her, but it’s not in 
my power. She’s off to Paradise Buildings, where she 
and her sister live, to complete her act of self-sacrifice. 
Good-night, guv’nor.” 

“ Good-night,” said Thomas Dexter, and entered his 
shop, shrugging his shoulders. 


THOMAS DEXTER HAS STRANGE DREAMS. 

On the following day Thomas Dexter attended the sale 
of old curiosities in an auction room, in Leicester Square, 
which had once been Sir Joshua Eeynolds’ studio. He 
had marked down half-a-dozen lots which he was anxious 
to buy — enamels of no particular value in themselves, but 
likely to suit a customer who had a craze for them. Hav- 
ing secured the enamels at a price which he knew he could 
double in the selling, he made his way back to Clare 
Market. 

Never in his life had he had a day’s illness, and no signs 
had warned him that sickness was near, but when he was 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE, 


. 31 

within a quarter of a mile of his shop a sudden vertigo 
caused everything to swim before his eyes — picture shops, 
costermongers’ barrows, flaunting women, newspaper boys, 
bits of pavement, gutter and sky, all jumbled up and go- 
ing round together. He caught hold of some railings to 
steady himself, and presently the sky went up into its 
proper place, and the gutter came down, and the pave- 
ment flattened itself out, and the flaunting women passed 
him with bold looks, and the costermongers wheeled their 
barrows along quite naturally. Except that there was a 
strange air of newness about everything, the moving life 
around him had undergone no change. 

‘‘Ah,” muttered Hexter, with a satisfactory sigh, 
“ that's all right. But I wonder what it was!” 

He walked slowly onward, somewhat uncertain of his 
footsteps — there was certainly something wrong with the 
pavement; it seemed to be loose — when he experienced a 
repetition of his dizziness. This time he sank to the 
ground, in consequence of there being nothing substantial 
within reach for him to lay hold of, and a crowd imme- 
diately collected around him. Their voices acted like a 
charm upon him. He scrambled to his feet, and gazing at 
the people in a dazed fashion, pushed through them un- 
ceremoniously, and in The course of half-an-hour suc- 
ceeded in reaching his shop in safety — while one of the 
flaunting women in the crowd he had left behind him said 
with a laugh, 

“ It’s easy to see what’s the matter with him /” 

Dexter’s movements, when he was in his shop, were 
guided by a kind of wise instinct. The first thing he 
did was to put up his shutters and lock his street door. The 
second thing, to place by his bedside as much bread as he 
found in his cupboard, and a jug of water. The third 
thing, to make a large pot of tea. The fourth thing, to 
undress himself and go to bed. 

“I’ll have a good^ long sleep,” said Dexter, speaking 
confidentially to himself; “and I shall wake up in the 
morning quite well.” 

Then he drank a cup of hot tea. Then he said again: 

“ I wonder what it was! I don’t think I’ve eat any- 
thing to disagree with me. It might be understandable 
if it was summer and a hot sun was blazing on my head. 
But it’s winter, and a precious dismal winter, too. There 


32 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


was a frost setting in last night when that Little Make- 
Believe was running away with the pie. ’Earn idea, not 
to eat it herself. Almost as rum as finding myself here 
ill bed in the-mi/d-dle of the day, instead of the middle of 
the night. Shouldn’t wonder if it was a rush of blood — 
yes, that’s what it was, a rush of blood. 0, Lord! here’s 
my head going round again!” 

Then he gave his head a great many shakes to bi:ing it 
to a proper sense of its duty — he was really angry with 
it for its bad behavior — but it went round more than ever. 
Then he looked at his father’s night-cap, hanging solidly 
down from the rafters, and that was going round too. 
Then he looked at a little nest of drawers in a corner of the 
room, and that was going round too. Then he looked at 
the old armor, old brasses, old carvings, old lace, old 
enamels, old furniture, with which the room was cram- 
med, and they were going round too. Then the ceiling 
went round, then the floor went round, then his clothes 
went round — how funny his muddy old boots, with his 
socks stuffed in them, looked, as they waltzed gravely in 
and out the goods. A peculiarity of these proceedings 
was that, although every article in the small room v/ as act- 
ually within- his reach, they all seemed to be going round 
at a very long distance from him — just as if he were 
gazing at them through the thin end of a pair of opera- 
glasses. 

TJpon my soul,” he said, I feel like a teetotum.” 

Suddenly, and evidently by some occult arrangement 
and understanding between themselves, everything stood 
stock still in its proper place and distance — boots, cocks, 
nightcap, ceiling, floor, armor, brasses, carvings, enamels, 
there tliey were all of them as steady as a rock. 

This,” said Dexter, with a weak little laugh, reaching 
out his hand to the teapot to pour himself out a cup of 
hot tea, ‘‘ is about the rummiest thing that ever happened 
to me. Nobody would believe it of me, and I don’t know 
— no, upon my soul, I don’t quite know if I believe it of 
myself.” 

He was surprised to find that the tea had got ice cold 
all in a minute. 

Here’s another funny thing I don’t quite believe,” he 
said; a minute ago the tea was boiling hot, and now it’s 
as cold as charity. But I mustn’t forget it’s winter; that’s 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


■wliat’s making my fingers tremble so. Jolly cold — jolly 
cold. Yes, jolly cold as charity. No, that can’t be right; 
jolly cold as charity sounds topsy-turvy.” 

The cup rattled in the saucer and the spoon against 
tjoth, as he held them in his hands, and wondered why 
the tea was so cold. He did not know that a day and a 
night and the best part of another day had passed since ho 
went to bed. With difficulty he replaced the cup and sau- 
cer on the table. Just in time, for everything began to 
go round again, and there he was lying on the flat of his 
back, watching the gyrations in a kind of stupid, content- 
ed stupor. Among the carvings were some queer old 
faces of men and women and animals, which glided occa- 
sionally from the silent waltz to have a close look at him; 
and when in his thoughts he asked them how they were, 
and whether they were enjoying' themselves, they grinned 
and nodded at him, and seemed to say: 

Very much indeed, very much indeed. And how 
•areyozi, old fellov/? and how areyozt enjoying yourself?” 

Quite well, thank you,” he replied, quietly. Pray 
don’t stop on my account. Go round — go round. There’s 
a number of little circles up there, and you’ll just fit into 
them. And there’s my boots waiting for partners. But 
upon my soul and body, if any little boy or girl would tell 
me what it all means, I’d give ’em a brand new farden. 
It don’t last long, that’s one comfort.” 

For it was all over once more, and every article in the 
room was as sober as a’ judge. He felt so thirsty, that. he 
determined to have another cup of tea, cold as it was; but 
when he put out his hand he could not find the tea things. 
He managed to crane his head over the bedside, and there 
upon the floor lay the teapot, cup and saucer, broken in 
a dozen pieces. 

‘‘Now how did that happen?” he wondered; “not a 
minute ago they were as sound as I am, and I didn’t hear 
anything fall. It’s that confounded waltzing, I suppose. 
Enough to upset everything in the place. Never mind. 
I’ll have some water.” 

But to say he would have some water was one thing, 
and to have some water another. The water in the jug 
was a mass of ice. To crawl out of bed and get a sharp- 
pointed knife, and to crawl back again, shivering, and dig 
into the ice with the knife till he obtained sufficient to 
a 


34 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


assuage his thirst, occupied him much longer than he 
supposed, for he had lost count of time, and intervals 
which he reckoned as so many minutes were, in reality, so 
many hours. 

^‘I’m as weak as a kitten,” he thought; ^^but come 
what will, ril have some sleep, or Til know the reason 
why.” So he winked at his father’s nightcap, and saying: 

If you’re going to have another waltz, have the goodness 
to let me know beforehand,” turned on his side, and fell 
into a sleep less disturbed than that he had previously 
enjoyed. 

His dreams were not so extravagant, but were suffi- 
ciently fantastic. His predominant fancy was that he was 
walking through scores and scores of alleys and courts and 
narrow streets for the purpose of asking the little boys 
and girls what it all meant. Every one he asked returned 
the same answer, and to every one who answered him he 
gave a brand new farthing. The answer was: 

‘‘Old Dexter’s had a fever.” Not “YotiVe had a 
fever,” but “ Old Dexter’s had a fever,” as if he himself 
were somebody else. 

“ But look here,” he said to a young imp with weak eyes 
and red hair, “ I’m old Dexter!” 

“Gammon!” retorted the young imp, with scornful 
snaps of his fingers. “ Did you ever see old Dexter going 
about as you’re a-doing on, \vith a sack of brand new far- 
dens on his back, giving on ’em away as if they was 
stones? You, old Dexter? Tell that to the marines.” 

By which speech the dreamer knew that he carried on 
his back a sack filled with the new farthings be was giving 
away so liberally. He did not find it at all an unpleasant 
sort of a hump, and notwithstanding that there were 
thousands of farthings in it, it was as light as a bag of 
feathers. He went about to other boys and girls, and 
tried to bribe them with admitting that he tms old Dex- 
ter, and no other fellow; but bribe them as he might, he 
could not get them to admit that he was himself. 

Said one, “ Arks old Sally if yer don’t believe us, and 
give her four fardens.” 

Old Sally was a blind woman who stood begging on the 
curbstone every Saturday night in Clare Market, within 
twenty yards of Thomas Dexter’s shop. The dreamer 
gave her four farthings, saying: 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


35 


Fm Thomas Dexter.” 

No, no, kind sir,” said Sally. You’re hiding your 
charity under another name than your own. Thomas 
Dexter never gives anything to the poor.” 

‘‘‘Here, you sir,” cried tlie dreamer to a figure in a gray 
cloak that happened, oddly, to come his way. “ Tell me 
why old Sally and the little chaps won’t recognize me. 
I should like to know, really, and I’ll pay yer for the iii' 
formation.” 

“ Pay me, then,” said the figure, holding out his two 
hands, which the dreamer filled with farthings, “and 
look and learn.” 

He flung the farthings into the air, and they changed 
instantly into little birds, their feathers the colors of the 
rainbow. The odd part of the affair was that every bird 
wore a white apron, like a waiter, and that every one of 
them carried something nice to eat or drink. Loaves of 
bread, basins of soup, sheeps’ trotters, mutton chops, 
plum duff, pork sausages, mince pies, and goodness only 
knows what, which they immediately commenced to dis- 
tribute among thousands and thousands of poor children 
who started up like magic on all sides. The faces of 
many of these poor children were familiar to the dreamer, 
for he had seen them in bis walks about the streets. The 
most familiar figure in the throng was Little Make- 
Believe, who seemed to be ubiquitous, she was so contin- 
ually repeating herself. How eagerly they took the food 
from the birds, and how eagerly they ate and drank the 
good things! What a chorus of thanksgiving filled the 
air! “ Prime, ain’t it?” “ Here’s a jolly go!” “Good 
luck ter yer!” “ Warms a chap, don’t it?” “ Never had 
such a feed in all my born days!” “I wouldn’t call the 
Emperor of Roosher my uncle!” And they laughed and 
hoorayed, and the birds kept up a pleasant twittering all 
the time. 

“ What do you think of the sight?” asked the figure in 
the gray cloak. 

“It’s beautiful,” exclaimed the dreamer, enthusiastic- 
ally. 

“ Well, did old Dexter ever do such a thing?” 

“I don’t remem bei-,” said the dreamer, considering a 
little,. “ that he ever did.” 

“It’s worth doing, is it not?” 


36 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


rshould say it was. Listen to the little chaps!'’' 

‘^It seems to please you.” 

‘‘ It does.” 

^MVhy,” asked the cloaked figure, ^‘did old Dexter 
never indulge in a pleasure so cheaply purchased?” 

‘Ms'ow yer mention it,” replied the dreamer, I sup- 
pose it is because he never thought of it.” 

Not a young man, this Dexter?” 

Not at all.” 

How old, should you say?” 

0, I know, having lived with him so long. He’s 
fifty-five.” 

Fifty -five! And never thought of doing a charitable 
action.” 

‘‘ Perhaps he didn’t have time,” pleaded the dreamer. 

‘^Not in all those fifty-five years! A large family of 
his own to occupy him perhaps.” 

“ No,” said the dreamer, with something like a sigh, 

he has no family.” 

No wife?” 

^^No. Here, T say!” cried the dreamer excitedly, as 
the phantom of Polly Cleaver glided past. ‘‘ What are 
you doing here? T thought you was dead.” 

To whom are you speaking?” 

To one who was my wife for about a month. There 
she is — No, she’s gone!” 

Dead to you?” 

Dead to everyone, so far as I know.” 

‘‘And left no child behind her?” 

“ None that I ever heard oL” 

“ So — you stand alone, without one human link of love 
to bind you to the world, without sympathy, without 
charity, without a spark of kind feeling for the suffering 
and helpless. Farewell,” 

In the utterance of this word the. children and the birds 
faded from his sight, and the dreamer found himself 
alone with the figure in the gray cloak, which was slowly 
moving away. 

“ But I say, old boy,’" cried the dreamer, “ you are 
rather hard on old Dexter. He isn’t at all a bad sort of 
fellow, upon my soul he isn’t!” 

He caught hold of the cloak which fell from the figui-e, 
and the dreamer saw before him the form of a man shaped 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 37 

in ice, and on tlie region of the heart were inscribed the 
words, ‘‘ Old Dexter’s Charity.” 

The dreamer laid his hand upon the inscription, and 
shivered as he murmured, 

Precious cold, upon my soul!” 

Then everything vanished, and Thomas Dexter enjoyed 
a dreamless sleep of several hours. 

He was aroused to consciousness by a postman’s knock - 
_ at the street door. He jumped out of bed and shuffled 
into his shop, where he saw the letter drop through a slit. 
On the floor were two or three other letters, and three 
copies of a daily newspaper, which the postman poked 
every morning under the door. He gathered the news- 
papers and looked at the dates. 

^^Why,” he muttered in wonder, I’ve been asleep for 
three days and nights. I’ve been ill, I suppose. I feel 
better now, but still a bit shaky. What’s that noise?” 

It was a noise of voices in the street, followed by a 
cracking at the door, which betokened that people wera 
trying to force an entrance. 

Hold hard!” he cried. What do yer want?” 

In response he heard voices exclaiming, 

‘^It’s old Dexter’s voice!” ‘‘It ain’t! It’s his ghost’s!”" 
“It’s somebody robbing the place!” “Break it in, 
policeman, break it in!” 

To avert the destruction, Thomas Dexter hastily un- 
locked the door, and threw it open. And there he stood, 
clad only in his shirt, confronting quite a number of per- 
sons, most of them neighbors, who, alarmed at the shut- 
ters being up, and at Dexter not making his appearance 
for three days, had prevailed upon the policeman to effect 
an entrance into the shop. 

All of them fell back at his appearance, and a few ran 
away as fast as if Old Nick himself were at their heels, 
and when they were at a safe distance spread a report that 
Dexter was dead and his ghost was coming that way. 
Those that remained were soon convinced that Thomas 
Dexter was alive by the abuse he hurled at them for their 
kindly interest in his behalf. They, egged on to a fierce 
war of words by the disappointment he had inflicted upon 
them by not being dead, returned his abuse with interest,^ 
and declared that a man who kept himself shut in like 
that day and night ought to be locked up and taken care 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


ds 

of, for it was clear lie was incapable of taking care of 
himself. The policeman gave his opinion. 

donT know so innch about locking him up,’’ he 
commenced, and was indignantly interrupted by Thomas 
Dexter. 

I’d advise yer not to try,” cried that individual. 

'^And I’d advise retorted the policeman, to 
keep your sarce to yourself. For a respectable shopkeeper 
to behave as you’ve behaved ain’t fair to the neighbor- 
hood. That’s all.” 

Well,” said Thomas Dexter, feeling very cold about 
his legs, ‘^as that’s all, I wish yer good-day.” 

And he slammed the door in their faces, a proceeding 
which did not restore their amiability. 

He did not generally trouble himself about his neigh- 
bors or their opinions, and he soon forgot the recent oc- 
currence. His delight in Snding himself well and in hav- 
ing so quickly and safely passed through a dangerous ill- 
ness caused him to forget all minor details, and it was 
with something like gratitude he lit a f .-e and dressed 
himself. Then he went out, and being .tremendously 
hungry, ate a hearty meal at a cook-shop counter — a thing 
he had not done for years. Eating his meals at home was 
much more economical. 

‘‘Not much like a dead ’un, Mr. Dexter,” remarked the 
proprietor of the cook-shop, referring to his customer’s 
powers of absorption. 

“A long way from it,” assented Thomas Dexter. ‘^It 
is a long time since I felt so well. I will give you a bit of 
advice. When you feel a little queer in the head*, and 
things seem to be all going round ” 

“Take a liver pill,” interposed the proprietor of the 
cook-shop. “ That’s what you’re going to say.” 

“ That’s what I’m not going to say. Take a good long 
sleep, never mind if it lasts a week, and it ’ll make a man 
of you again. See what it’s done for me.” 

“Yes,” he mentally repeated to himself as he walked 
back to his shop, “ see what it’s done for me.” 

What it had done for him, outwardly, was apparent; 
but it bad .done something for him inwardly which was 
not visible to the ordinary observer. It had set him think- 
ing. The whole of the afternoon and evening, although 
he was ostensibly busy with the stock in his shop, he did 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


39 


nothing in reality but think of his dream and of what led 
np to it. And in this play of thought Little Make-Believe 
■was the central figure. He could not get her out of his 
mind. Little Make-Believe, with her paper flag, marching 
at the head of the ragged regiment; Little Make-Believe 
with the pie clasped to her breast, crouching at his feet; 
Little Make-Believe in the midst of the birds with their 
aprons on; Little Make-Believe appearing here, tliere and 
in a dozen places at once, fading away only to appear 
again, haunted him, as it were. And such an impression 
did her impalpable presentment make upon him, tlmt at 
about half-past eight o^clock at night he started up from 
his chair by the fireside with the intention of paying her 
a visit. For what purpose, and to what end, he had not 
the slightest idea. 

He remembered that the man who had put the police- 
man off the scent had said that Little Make-Believe lived 
in Paradise Buildings. He knew the turning which led to 
these tenements, but he had never had the curiosity to 
take a peep at them. So through the bitterly cold night 
he made his way to the child’s home, with the picture of 
her imploring face before him as he went. 


THOMAS DEXTER TAKES PART IK HIS O’WK EUKERAL — 
A CEREMOKY HE FIKDS MORE FANTASTIC THAN 
SOLEMN. 

An uneducated barbarian happening to hear of the 
existence of Little Make-Believe, and to hear at the same 
time that she lived in Paradise Buildings, would have 
pronounced her to be more than thrice blessed inasmuch 
as she lived not at the gate of Paradise, but in the very 
heart of it. But in civilized life — which may be summed 
up as ha’pence and farthings, loaves of bread, butcliers’ 
bills, and shoe leather — there is no game more commonly 
played than that child’s game known as The Rule of 
Contrary. Therefore, probably it is that upon the most 
wretched slums in London are bestowed high-sounding 
titles, in very mockery of the misery which hides its head 
there. 

Paradise Buildings — which may fitly be spoken of in 
the singular instead of the plural, consisting as it did of a 


40 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


single house, four stories high and one deep — was no ex- 
oeption to the Eiile of Contrary. It was dilapidated, dis- 
reputable, and dissipated; it bulged out in the middle and 
leaned over at the top; it was notoriously unsafe; it was 
infested with rats and.blackbeetles; half its windows were 
broken, and were patched with paper and stuffed with 
rags. It possessed a yard, four feet by six, a horror to be- 
hold; it afforded a shelter to at least forty persons, and it 
belonged to a person of high moral attainments, who en- 
tertained lofty views concerning what he chose to call 

the social regeneration of the lowei classes,” a darling 
theme which he- aired in the papers whenever he could get 
the opportunity. In an apartment in the cellars of this 
Eouse, lived Little Make-Believe and Saranne. 

There were two apartments in the cellar, that next to 
Little Make-Believe’s being occupied by a cobbler. This 
gentleman it was who, popping his headT out of his door 
at the sound of footsteps on the rickety stairs, astonished 
Thomas Dexter by seizing him suddenly by the collar of 
his coat, and pulling him into the room. Thomas Dex- 
ter was about to remonstrate energetically against this 
violence, when the cobbler clapped his hand upon the curi- 
osity dealer’s mouth. 

“ Hush!” he said, in a sepulchral tone. Don’t raise 
jer voice. Speak in a whisper. Well, if this ’ere ain’t a 
game! AVhy everybody believed yer dead, and dead yer 
ought to be out o’ respect to public opinion. The little 
cusses! Don’t yer ’ear ’em?” 

By a motion of bis hand, he directed Thomas Dexter’s 
attention to the wall which separated his apartment from 
Little Make-Believe’s, and Thomas Dexter, placing his ear 
to it, in imitation of the action of the cobbler, heard a 
sound of children’s voices, one of which, more distinct 
than the others, was reciting a parody on the burial serv- 
ice for the dead. The significance of the words, strange 
and extravagant as they were, the dismal appearance of 
the miserable apartment which was lit by one thin tallow 
pandle, the unearthly feeling which stole upon him, were 
appalling. 

‘‘Are they burying anybody?” he asked, in a whisper. 

“ That’s jest what the ifttle cusses are a-doin’ on. 
They’re a*buryin’ of you.” 

“ Of me!” 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


41 


“ Keep still. Yer shall see for yourself; but the war- 
mints mustn’t know that anybody’s lookin’ at ’em. Lord 
--Lord-— Lord ! the games I’ve seen ’em at night arter 
night! It’s as good as a play. Don’t move.” 

Spitting on the forefinger' and thumb of his right hand, 
the cobbler seized with these forceps the snuff -of the 
candle and extinguished the light. Being now in the 
dark, and safe from observation, he removed two very 
small wooden pegs from two very small holes in the wall, 
through each of which, by placing the eye very close to 
it, a view of the proceedings in the adjoining apartment 
could be obtained. 

Little Make-Believe’s room was illuminated by three- 
ends of candles, which the cobbler in a sepulchral whisper 
informed Thomas Dexter were generally contributed by 
one and another of the little cusses ” when any game 
was on. There were quite a dozen children assembled 
there, standing round an imaginary grave, into which the 
imaginary body of Thomas Dexter had just been lowered, 
and only the concluding words of the service reached 
Thomas Dexter’s ears. It was Dot-and-carry-one wha 
officiated as minister, and he it was who in a mock solemn, 
voice, in which lurked a frightful malice> exclaimed — 

“ Ashes to ashes — dust to dust, 

If Gawd don’t take him, the Devil must!” 

Thomas Dexter shivered. The phantom of the figure 
in his dream rose before him with its icy heart, upon 
which was inscribed ‘‘Old Dexter’s Charity.” 

Then the children pretended to shovel the earth over 
him, and this being done to a chorus of -uncomplimentary 
allusions to himself, Thomas Dexter took observation of 
certain matters which up to this time had escaped liis 
notice. The first was the form of an exceedingly beauti- 
ful child, who, lying on the ground with her chin resting 
in the palms of her hands,, had played a quiescent part in 
the ceremony. Her face was like a rose, her eyes were as 
blue as the loveliest cloud, her limbs might have been 
molded in wax, so perfect were they, and her fair hair 
hung round her beautiful head and rested on her white- 
shoulders, one of which was bare. 

“ Is it real, or a picter?” 

Thomas Dexter believed that these words had simply 


42 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


found expression in his mind, but he had really spoken 
them under his breath. The cobbler answered him. 

■ That is Saranne, Little Make-Believe’s sister. She’ll 
grow up a beauty — if she grows up at all.” 

“ Why shouldn’t she grow up?” asked Thomas Dexter. 

Because,” said the cobbler, "'‘she’s got about as much 
strength as I’ve got in my little finger. It’s to be hopod, 
for Little Make-Believe’s sake, as nothink ’ll ’appen to 
her. It’d break the little ’un’s ’eart.” 

The contemplation of this exquisite figure had drawn 
Thomas Dexter’s attention from the other children for a 
few moments, and when presently he turned toward them 
he saw them seated in a row on a bench, and saw also, to 
his pmazement, that their faces were blackened. 

“They’re playing nigger minstrels,” explained the cob- 
bler. “ It’s a favorite game with the little cusses.” 

The band was complete in all its details, bones, banjoes 
— the imaginary instruments being illustrated wiUi amaz- 
ing vigor by the performers — tenor and falsetto voices, 
and middle man. The songs were for the most reminis- 
cences, the airs being faithfully enough rendered, and the 
words such as happened to come to them. Jokes and 
witticisms were freely bandied, and hugely enjoyed by the 
performers and their audience of one — the pretty Saranne. 
The entertainment, indeed, appeared to be devised chief- 
ly for her amusement, and the little queen thoroughly ap- 
preciated it. 

“And now, colored bredren,” said Dot-and-carry-one, 
“I’ll give yer ‘Put him in his little bed’ for de special 
benefit ob ole Tommy Dexter; You’ll all on yer strike in 
with ‘ Alleyloojah ’ and ‘ Mother, dear mother.’ ” 

After which prelude he delivered himself of the follow- 
ing extraordinary composition, with great spirit: 

“ Put him in his little bed, 

Mother, dear mother. 

Stingy Tommy Dexter’s dead, 

Alleyloojah ! 

He’s gone ober de golden shore, 

Alleyloojah! 

We’ll nebber, nebber see him more, 

(And don’t want to) 

Mother, dear mother. 

No more, no more, nebber no more. 

Mother, dear mother.” 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


43 


Then Dot-and-carry-one rose from his seat and exe- 
cuted a savage and exultant dance over the imaginary grave 
with such surprising vigor that it brought down the house; 
and the one it delighted most was Saranne. 

“ Thank yer,” whispered Thomas Dexter to the cobbleiv 
‘‘I think I’ve had enough.” 

And he crept out of the cellar, and up the rickety stairs, 
and out of Paradise Buildings with a sickening feeling in 
his heart, unconsciously murmuring the lines: 

“ He’s*gone ober de golden shore, 

Alleyloojah ! 

We’ll nebber, nebber see him more, 

(And don’t want to) 

Mother, dear mother. 

No more, no more, nebber no more, 

Mother, dear mother.” 

Arrived at his dwelling place, another adventure befell 
him. He saw a woman looking at the shutters, and he 
confronted her. It was his wife, Polly. They gazed at 
each other in silence for a little while. Polly first broke 
the silence. 

“ I came to see,” she said: I heard you was dead, but 
you’re ))retty lively for a dead ’un. Don’t be scared — I 
ain’t going to worry yer. I’m Holy Joe’s wife, yer know, 
not your’n, and he’d twist my neck if he caught me. It 
worn’t for my own sake I come, nor for his’n, but for” — 
she broke oft suddenly, and burst into a loud laugh — 
“Well, what do it matter whose for, eh? I say, old 
man, I’ve heerd you’d got lots o’ tin,” 

‘^I’m not in want,” he said, shortly. 

Could yer spare a matter of five pound if I was to 
arks yer for it?” 

‘‘I could if I cared to?” 

^^Will yer?” 

‘‘No.” 

“ You old skinflint,” she said, “ do yer think I want it 
for myself or for Joe? He’d spit upon yer money if he 
was starving. He‘s got the sperrit and the heart of a lion 
has my Joe.” 

“If not for yon, or for yer Joe, who do yer want the 
money for?” asked Thomas Dexter. 

“ If I was to tell yer,” she answered, tapping him 


44 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


roughly on the breast, yer’cl know as much as I know, 
wouldn’t yer? If I’m alive when yer a laying on yer 
death-bed, send for me, old man, and I’ll tell yer some- 
think as ’ll make yer sorry yer didn’t fork out the fiver I 
arsked yer for. Good night. Tommy.” 

He made no effort to stop her, and he saw, as he looked 
after her, what he had half- suspected, that she had been 
drinking. He attached no significance to what she had 
said, and, strangely enough, startling and unexpected as 
was her appearance, he soon forgot her. It was the scene 
he had just witnessed in the cellar of Paradise Buildings 
which occupied and weighed upon his mind. He stood at 
the shop-door for a long time thinking of it, and then, 
urged by an impulse, the reason of which he could not 
have explained, he directed his steps in the direction of 
Paradise Buildings. When he reached it, he walked 
straight to the part of the cellar inhabited by Little Make- 
Believe and her sister. 

They were alone; the rougher children were gone. 
Saranne was asleep, and Little Make-Believe was sitting 
on the floor beside her sister, nursing her knees. She 
looked up at his entrance, and would have risen, but he 
kept her in her position by laying his hand lightly on her 
shoulder. It was a kindly touch, and any alarm Little 
Make-Believe may have felt was dispelled. He knelt and 
looked at the fair head pillowed in sleep on the hard 
boards. He had seen such a face in idealized pictures of 
children and angels, but never, until now, in real life. 

“ Was it for her you took the pie?” he asked. 

^^Yes, sir.” 

‘‘ Did you have no money?” 

‘‘ Hot a copper.” 

1 Have you any now?” 

‘'^Ho, sir.” 

He took three bright shillings from his pocket, one 
after another, and put them into Little Make-Believe’s 
hand. All the muscles in her face twitched convulsively. 

^‘Some little birds sent them to you,” said Thomas 
Dexter, ^‘and I am their messenger.” 

When he was in the cold streets again his hands were 
wet with tears which had .welled from her grateful heart. 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


45 


PART 11. 

BLOSSOM. 


With the majority of human beings the period of ado- 
lescence is the most uninteresting portion of life. The 
pretty ways of childhood have run their tender and fas- 
cinating course, and there is a long wait, as at the fall of 
the act-drop in the drama. To this rule, however. Little 
Make-Believe was an exception. Her life was full of 
color, and every day* that dawned brought with it the 
necessity for action. This struggle for the bare neces- 
saries of life, this fight for food, was replete with interest, 
albeit of a painful kind. Yet from her inner being, in 
which lay^a well of purest sweetness, she dre.w a wondrous 
■compensation for anxiety and suffering; her gratitude for 
trifles was so great that it might with some semblance of 
truth be said that the pleasure of her days was born of 
the pain thereof, and would have been of a lower quality 
hflid her need been less. 

She had found a friend, however, but for whom she 
might have succumbed, the world was so powerful and she 
so weak. These last words have nothing of exaggeration 
in them, for the world was her enemy. Ruled by social 
laws which of very necessity might have compelled Little 
Make-Believe to drift into wrong-doing, in the eyes 
of the world she was a sore blemish,, for which none but 
the narrow-minded could have condemned her. Happily 
for her, of this exceedingly numerous order of beings 
Thomas Dexter was not a member. From the night upon 
which he was a spectator of his own funeral in Paradise 
Buildings he became her friend. In a small way certainly. 
To the extent, probably, of three or four pennies in the 
course of a week, bestowed upon her at a penny a time 
when he met her in the streets. It was little enough, but 
it was a help. The wonderful God-send of three bright 
shillings from his hand to hers was- not repeated, but that 
was hardly to be expected.. The occasional pennies were 


46 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


a windfall which often sent Little Make-Believe home re- 
joicing. 

Saranne grew stronger and moro beantifnl, and, accept- 
ing as her right the cheerful willingness to provide for 
her which was Little Make- Believers chief rule of life, did 
no work herself even when she was old enough for it. 
But it is hard to say what she coul'd have done had sad 
fortune deprived her of her supporter. She knew noth- 
ing, had learnt nothing, and was easily discouraged, 
whereas Little Make-Believe fought doggedly against the 
heavy odds, and often exclaimed (sometimes in the midst 
of bitter tears), “ Never say die!’’ 

Daring the years that intervened between childhood 
and womanhood the sisters became acquainted with three 
persons who were destined to play important parts in 
their histories. Two were gentlemen, one a boy of the 
people. 

Where this latter came from no one 1n Clare Market 
knew. Some said he dropped from the clouds — an 
euphemism, for he more likely sprang from the gutters. 
He was utterly wild, ungovernable, and untamable, and 
seemed to have gypsy blood in him. Questioned about 
his parents, his reply was that he didn’t know nothink 
about ’em.” He lived anyhow, from hand to mouth, as 
the saying is. Where he slept, how he managed to live, 
where he came from, and if there existed a human being 
in the world with whom he could claim the smallest tie of 
kinship — these were questions which none could answer. 
In some odd way he became acquainted with Little Make- 
Believe and Saranne, and. would sometimes sit in the 
cellar with the one and stroll through the streets with the 
other. A bad companion in every way, but they were not 
in a position to choose their associates. Whatever fell to 
their share they were compelled to accept, whether for 
good or ill. 

From the policeman, Thomas Dexter — who had seen 
the lad with Little Make-Believe, and was curious about 
him — received his character. 

A bad lot, sir. Been locked up a dozen times at least. 
When he’s charged no one comes for’ard to speak up for 
him. When he’s asked in court whether he doesn’t belong 
to somebody, or whether somebody doesn’t belong to him. 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 47 

he saroes the magistrate and tells him to mind his own 
business. A regular bad lot, sir, is Foxey.” 

This was the name by which he was known. A personal 
experience of Thomas Dexter’s was confirmatory of the 
pharacter given to Foxey by the policeman. He had 
bought some odds and ends at auction which he engaged 
a man to wheel iiome in a barrow. Foxey, coming on the 
scene while the goods were being conveyed into the shop, 
appropriated an old-fashioned mirror and made off with 
it. Thomas Dexter, whose back for the moment was 
turned, detected Foxey in the act of running away, and 
he instantly ran after him. Without assistance Thomas 
Dexter might have run to the land’s end without catching 
Foxey, but a woman caught and held the lad till Dexter 
reached him. Then the lad, twisting himself out of the 
woman’s grasp, dashed the mirror to the ground, shiver- 
ing it to pieces, and, dodging between Dexter’s legs, made 
his escape. Thomas Dexter picked himself up, and gaz- 
ing ruefully at his destroyed property, returned to his 
shop. He declined to charge Foxey with the theft, hav- 
ing a horror of police courts, but when he met the lad and 
Little Make-Believe in the street, he laid his hand upon 
the girl’s shoulder and detained her. 

You shouldn’t be seen,” he said, ‘Mvith that young 
thief. He’ll make yer as bad as he is himself.” 

Here, stash that!” cried Foxey; while Little Make-Be- 
lieve looked from one to the other in fear and trembling, 
'‘Jest you mind yer own business, and let Make-Believe 
mind her’n.” 

“ You know I’m yer friend,” said Thomas Dexter, still 
addressing Little Maike-Believe. “That little villain 
there stole a mirror from me, and when he was caught 
shivered it to bits.” Foxey laughed loudly and maliciously, 
which caused Thomas Dexter to exclaim, “I could have 
had him locked up for it.” 

“Well,” retorted Foxey, defiantly, “why didn’t yer? I 
don’t care for being locked up. You’re too much- of a 
sneak, that’s what you are. Yah! I say, gov’ner, how much 
was that bit of glass worth?” 

“ It was worth half-a-sovereign, you rascal.” 

“ It would have paid yer to give me a bob rather than 
have it broke, wouldn’t it?” 

“ Yes, it would.” 


48 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


Why didn’t yer say so, then? Always agreeable, gov- 
’tier, to take anythink that’s give to me. So’s Make- 
] Relieve, ain’t 3 ^er?” 

But between these two stools Little Make-Believe was 
too frightened to speak. 

“I ain’t good enough for Make-Believe, ain’t I? Oh,., 
no, not a bit of it. There’s a bobby. Give me in charge 
—I don’t care! You ain’t got the sperrit of a mouse, 

5 hat’s what you ain’t got. Look here, Make-Believe, I’ll 
L;it a silk hat and a welwet westcut, and then I shall be 
good enough to Avalk alongside yer. Crikey! what a 
non or!” 

And off walked Foxey, imitating the gait of members 
of fashionable circles. 

Before another twenty-four hours had passed over his 
bead, Thomas Dexter had a further experience of Foxey, 
fie missed a small piece of ivory, carved into the hideous 
unlikeness of a human being — one of those Chinese nion- 
.<trosities which many persons, who should know better,, 
believe belong to high art. He could not imagine where 
it had got to. It was on his counter for a few minutes,, 
during which no suspicious person had been in his shop. 
While he was hunting about and perplexing himself over 
ids loss, he saw Foxey grinning in his shop windows. He 
went to the door to hunt the scamp away, when Foxey,. 
touching his cap with mock respect, said: 

I say, guv’nor, does yer want to buy a reg’lar keuriosL 
niosity?” 

“ Be off with yer, yer vagabond!” cried Thomas Dexter. 

‘‘ Don’t be so nppy; I ain’t gammoning, s’help me tater. 
It’s the rummest bit of ivory you ever sor,” — Thomas 
Dexter pricked up his ears — with a face a good deal 
uglier nor mine, and ears as large as his head. Come,, 
now, what’ll yer give for it?” 

Have yer got it about yer?” 

^^Not me! A particular friend of mine found it in a 
dustcart. Honor bright shining! Will yer give half- 
:i-do!lar for it?” 

‘Til give yer a shilling,” said Thomas Dextef, not 
iloubting that the article was his own. 

“A bob! Well, you are a mean cuss’ But you shall 
iiave it. I say, honor among thieves, yer know.” 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


49 


“ Brinpf it to me, and you shall have your shilling.” 

Foxey departed, and in the course of an hour returned 
with the ivory carving, for which, in a state of great in- 
dignation, Thomas Dexter gave him a shilling. This 
kind of persecution might have developed into something 
very serious for Dexter, had not a stop been put to it by 
Foxey being taken into custody and put upon his trial for 
an unblushing theft committed on a’ tradesman, who was 
less tender of police courts than the old curiosity 
dealer. 

Foxey’s proceedings at his trial were the cause of a great 
many leading articles in the newspapers. He conducted 
his own defense with extraordinary impudence and shrewd- 
ness, and pleaded that he stole the goods for the simple 
purpose of purchasing ^‘a silk hat and a welwet westcut,” 
so that he might ‘‘ cut a regular swell.” As a further proof 
of his effrontery and absolute recklessness, he called 
Thomas Dexter as a witness of character. Loath as he was, 
Thomas Dexter was compelled to appear in the witness- 
box and tell all he knew of Foxey, his evidence being en- 
livened by the prisoner’s running commentaries, to some 
such effect as the following: “Oh, what a whopperP 
“ Where do yer expect to go for running down a innocent 
chap like that?” “ Do yer know the meaning of a oath?’^ 
“ Oh, you out-and-out old sinner!” The trial was one of 
those which are occasionally made the medium of an inter- 
change of much small wit between bar and bench, and 
Foxey’s remarks were provocative of “convulsive laughter,, 
in which the hardened young criminal joined.” The up- 
shot was that Foxey was sentenced to three years’ im- 
prisonment with hard labor, and two years’ police super- 
vison at the end of that time. 

It disturbed Thomas Dexter somewhat to see Polly 
Cleaver in the body of the court during the trial, and 
when it was over he found himself once more face to face 
with her. 

“A good day’s work. Tommy,” she said, glaring at 
him. Her face was flushed and tliere were tears in her 
eyes. “ Yer miserable old skinflint, ver’ll live to repent 
it!” 

He hurried from her, but her words rang in his ears 
for many a day afterward. He was both angry and 


50 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


pleased — angry that he had been innocently instrumental 
in the boy’s conviction, and pleased that he was rid of 
the pest, and that Little Make-Believe now stood in no 
fear of contamination from the society of the young 
thief. 

The gentlemen who were destined to play an important 
part in the lives of Little Make-Believe and Saranne were 
Mr. Deepdale and his son Walter. The father was a 
gentleman of independent means, and one of Thomas 
Dexter’s best customers; Walter was a handsome lad of 
sixteen. They lived alone — the father being a widower 
and having no other children — and were inseparable. 

Mr. Deepdale had one love and one hobby — his love 
was Walter, his hobby was the antique. 

An easy, credulous man, whose fines of life had been 
cast in pleasant places. One great grief had afflicted him 
— the loss of his wife. One great compensation for a sor- 
row which otherwise would have been unbearable was given 
to him. His boy was all in all to him, veritably the apple 
of his eye, the heart of his heart, his solace, his comfort, 
his joy. And when to this was added the means and op- 
portunity of indulging in a passion for old china, old 
carvings, old enamels, old anything, it will be easy of be- 
lief that his life was one to be envied by the toilers and 
moilers of the world. 

The truth must be told. He had about as much knowl- 
edge of art as the man in the moon, but whether an 
article belongs the fourteenth or the nineteenth century 
is really of small consequence to the possessor if he derives 
pleasure ,in the possession, and if his faith be not dis- 
turbed. Thus; Mr. Deepdale was an easy prey to the 
dealers, who fooled him to the top of his bent, to their 
profit and his gratification. 

Having received a letter from Thomas Dexter inform- 
ing him that he had a service of Old Derby for sale, he 
and Walter hastened one night to Clare Market to secure 
it. 

The month was August, and oysters were in; also 
grottoes. 

On their way they were attracted to three children, 
who had formed themselves into a company, and had 
launched into a speculation. Their stock-in-trade, the 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


51 


value of which was nil, was represented by oyster shells; 
but they had an available asset (which, however, was con- 
suming itself and eating itself up, as it were) in the shape 
of a penny candle. The firm consisted of Little Make- 
Believe, Saranne, and another child, whose visions of 
wealth — conjured up chiefly by Little Make-Believe — 
were of an entrancing nature, the crowning glory of which 
was to be an eel-pie supper. The grotto they had built 
was more artistic and ambitious than most; the can- 
dle was alight, and the children were ready for busi- 
ness. 

But whether it was owing to the strikes in the north, 
or the scarcity of meat, or the high price of coals, or over- 
population, or the disturbed state of Ireland, or the rise 
of a half-penny in the four-pound loaf, certain it was that 
trade did not flourish with Little Make-Believers firm, 
one of the members, at least, of which worked hard for 
nearly a couple of hours without obtaining a copper. 

“ Please remember the' grotter!” was first launched 
merrily and saucily at the passers-by; at the end of the 
first half-hour there was no light-heartedness in the ap- 
peal; at the end of the second it became pathetic; at 
the end of the third, mournful; at the end of the 
fourth, despairing. Saranne was the first to give way; 
cold looks chilled her, and she left tlie battle to her two 
partners, of whom Little Make-Believe was the active 
worker. Two-thirds of their only asset, the candle, were 
consumed, and the eel-pie supper was an airy imagining, 
not at ail likely to be realized. Saranne was crouching 
sullenly on the ground, the light of the candle shining on 
her face; she was an impatient sufferer — the very reverse 
of Little Make-Believe, who was, mercifully, endowed 
with a fortitude rarely excelled even in men engaged in 
the highest struggles for humanity’s good. To comfort 
Saranne, Little Make-Believe, oblivious of her own need, 
was pretending that she saw, about three-quarters of a 
mile away, a kind gentleman coming toward them with 
the express intention of giving them a threepenny-bit, 
which would supply the firm with three small tin mugs of 
stewed eels. She went so far as to describe his dress and 
his appearance; he was an old gentleman with white hair, 
and he had a stick with a gold knob to it, and he had 
ch'ildren of his own at home who had sent him out for the 


52 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEYE. 


express purpose of giving a silver hansel fco Saranne. To 
these extravagancies Mr. Deepdale and Walter, standing 
in the shade, listened unobserved. 

Wally,” the father whispered to his son, have you 
got a threepenny-piece in your pocket?” 

“ Yes,” replied Walter, producing it. 

‘•'Throw it into that pretty little giiTs lap, and then 
let us. run.” 

It w’as done; like a silver- winged messenger from the 
skies the threepenny-piece fell into Saranne’s lap, and 
away scampered Mr. Deepdale and Walter, laughing glee- 
fully at the trick. They ran till they arrived at Thomas 
Dexter’s shop, into which they dashed almost out of 
breath, for all the world like boys who had been up to a 
rare piece of mischief, which, enjoyable as it was, might 
bring sonic dreadful penalty upon them. The Old Derby 
was inspected and purchased, and then Mr. Deepdale re- 
lated the incident to Thomas Dexter. 

“ I "think,” he said, “I never saw a more beautiful 
child’s face, though clouded with sorrow, than the face of 
the girl who was sitting^ by the grotto; and the ugly one 
with her stories — told with a wonderful faith and belief, 
poor thing! — it was really as if she were reading a tale out 
of a fairy book. 

“The child you admire is called Saranne,” said Thomas 
Dexter, “ and she and the ugly one are sisters. The story- 
teller’s name is Little Make-Believe.” 

“ That is exactly what she was doing, making-believe. 
It isn’t often that her dreams come true, I should say. 
And is that the reason of your calling her Little Make- 
Believe?” 

Thomas Dexter replied that it was, and seeing that his 
best customer was interested in the children, told much 
that he knew about them. He even related his dream, 
and the singular episode that followed of his being a wit- 
ness of his own funeral. They were more than amused; 
many of the incidents narrated by Thomas Dexter stirred 
both their hearts with pity and admiration, and when they 
took their leave of the old.curiosity dealer, which was not 
till past ten o’clock, they were animated by a desire which 
did not find expression in Thomas Dexter’s shop. They 
had their own peculiar ways, in the similarity of which 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 53 

^vas an underlying tenderness; they were more like brothers 
than father and son. 

“ Well, Wally,’’ said Mr. Deepdale, stopping at the end 
of the street in which Dexter lived, ^ Ms it to be home?” 

What do you think, dad?” 

What do yotv think, Wally?” 

^^Dad, I am thinking of the grotto.” 

So am I, Wally; we will go and have another look at 
it.” 

They were soon on the spot, but the scene was changed. 
The grotto was there, shorn of its brightness; long before 
they arrived the candle had spluttered itself out, and the 
sisters were sitting by the side of the house of shells, the 
third partner having left them in disgust. The night was 
■fine, and the stars were shining, but there was something 
•exceedingly touching in the attitude of these children, 
the prettier of whom was lying in her sister’s arms. 

What are you sitting here for, children?” inquired 
Mr. Deepdale. ‘‘Having h-ad your eel-pie supper, you 
should be home and a-bed.” 

“We’re going, sir,” said Little Make-Believe, and she 
assisted Saranne to rise. “ But we ain’t had no supper.” 

“ Why, what became of the threepenny-piece?” 

“Oh, did yer know about it, sir?” said Little Make- 
Believe, wearily. We thought it was our’n, but a boy 
come up and snatched it away. It was his’n, and he only 
threw it at us out of a joke ’cause I was pretending about 
it. It was a mean trick to serve us, wasn’t it, sir?” 

“A very mean trick,” sqid Mr. Deepdale. “I should 
not have supposed any boy would have been guilty of it.” 

“It was Dot-and-carry-one, sir. He’s always up to 
mischief.” 

“ So that was the end of your dream, then?” 

“ Yes, sir, and now we’re going home. Come along, 
Saranne.” 

“ Wait a minute, children. Well, Wally, what do you 
think?” 

“ I think it would be a capital thing, dad.” 

“So it would. Your dream shall come true, after all, 
Make-Believe.” 

“ 0, sir!’ 

“ Wouldn’t you like something better than stewed eels?” 


54 


LITTLE MAKE'BELIEYE. 


Couldn’t have nothink better, sir. Saranne’s set her 
heart on ’em — haven’t yer, Saranne?” Saranne’s eyes 
glittered. But yer only making game of ns, sir. Come 
along, Saranne.” 

‘‘ God forbid that I should make game of misery! We 
will all sup together.” 

And to the amazement and joy of the sisters, they found 
themselves presently sitting in a compartment of the best 
eating-house in the neighborhood, with large places of 
stewed eels before them. 

It was a night and a feast to be remembered, for they 
had found two friends who from that time never lost, 
sight of them. Mr. Deepdale, indeed, after a while in- 
formed Little Make-Believe that they might depend upon 
^him to the extent of half-a-crown a week, and her grati- 
tude knew no bounds. She never tired of speaking of 
them to Saranne, who, for the most part, listened in 
silence and indorsed every word of praise that fell from 
her sister’s lips. They were so noble, so tender, so kind; 
there was nobody, there never had been anybody in the 
world half so good as these gentlemen who stooped to 
relieve and comfort, and were exalted by so doing. They 
were princes, they were angels, and they were prayed for 
and blessed — for being human. 

I was thinking, dad — ” said Walter, many months 
afterward. 

“Yes, Wally, you were thinking — ” 

“ That Little Make-Believe and Saranne being so igno- 
rant — they don’t even know how to read — what fun it 
would be if I were to turn schoolmaster.’^ 

“ And teach them?” 

“ Yes, dad — say for an hour once a week. It would bo 
a good think for them when they grew up.” 

“A capital thing, Wally.” 

“Shall I, dad?” 

“ Shall you, Wally? When did you run one way and I 
another? Do you know, my boy, that this is a very 
sweet and beautiful world?” 

“It is very sweet and beautiful, dad — with you ia 
. it.” 

“ I was thinking of you, my boy.” 

“And I of you, father.” 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


55 


Mr. Deepdale gazed at the portrait of his wife, which 
hung upon the wall, and a prayer of thankfulness trembled 
on his lips. 

So it came about that Walter turned schoolmaster and 
on tiie Saturday night of every week began to teach 
Saranne and Little Make-Believe to read and write. They 
progressed very slowly, and lessons being given them to 
learn during the week, they were seldom, if ever, perfect 
in them. But Walter was patient, and they were in 
heaven. Yes, in the wretched liome provided for them by 
their father — of whom some slight mention is necessary, 
although he has but little to do with this history — in that 
miserable, dimly-lighted cellar, unseen stars were shining 
in human hearts, and heavenly hours were spent. 

A word about this father. More often in prison than 
out of it, at liberty on an average for about four months 
out of the twelve. He was not a thief, and cannot, there- 
fore, be called a criminal, but he was incorrigible, an irre- 
claimable drunkard. It actually became a kind of boast 
with him that, in the records of the local police-court, no 
person had been charged with being drunk and disorderly 
more frequently than himself. To be first and pre-eminent 
in any of tlie ways of life confers a certain distinction, 
and this distinction Little Make-Believe’s father enjoyed. 
Regularly as he came out of prison he favored his children 
with a visit, and expected to be waited on. Without a 
murmur did Little Make-Believe perform a daughter’s 
duties to a worthless parent, never sorrowing when he left 
her, never rejoicing when he returned. 

As a matter of course he became acquainted with his 
children’s new friends, and in a small way traded upon 
them. Their interest in Little Make-Believe and Saranne 
increasing as time progressed, they would have been glad 
to remove them to a more comfortable home, but to this 
their father demurred unless he formed one of the family 
group — to which, naturally, they could not consent. Of 
necessity, then, they remained in the lodgment he pro- 
vided for them; there was unhappily no law to strip him 
of his authority. 

Sometimes on a Saturday night the cellar was honored 
with visitors. The cobbler who lived in the adjoining 
room for one; Thomas Dexter, for another; Walter’s 
father, very frequently. With these, after the lessons. 


56 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


could Walter converse and argue, and he was so like liis< 
father in his modesty, and gentleness, and tenderness, 
that his views on most of the subjects which happened to 
crop up could not fail to leave an endurable impression. 
He read stories to them, and the children wandered in a 
new fairyland. But he was not the only teacher and 
entertainer. On rare occasions Little Make-Believe’s 
fantastic fancies found expression. Walter’s fairy stories 
bore fruit. It was her habit, as she grew in years, to 
close her eyes when fancy required. 

‘‘What do you see, Make-Believe?” 

“I see Saranne walking in the park. There’s fount- 
ains, and soldiers, and balloons, and flowers. Tliere’s 
water, too, and boats, and lots of people singing in ’em.’^ 

“ What are you doing?” 

“ Selling matches. Everybody’s buying them — I can’t 
take the money fast enough. Here’s a woman with a 
box of dresses, and I buy a shining silver gownd for Sar- 
anne, and a feather bed, and a white horse, and four 
pound of beef-steak.” 

At which strange mixture they all break out laughing.- 
Little Make-Believe opens her eyes and smiles. 

“All for Saranne, eh, Make-Believe.'*” asks the cobbler. 

“ In coui-se — all for her. And she’s going to marry a; 
prince.” 

At which Saranne claps her hands in ecstasy. 

There are higher and more solemn lessons in that 
dimly-lighted cellar. The children learn “ Our Father,’^ 
and tremblingly repeat it till they know it by heart. The 
cobbler is somewhat of a stumbling block when this 
prayer is introduced, for he is a terrible materialist 
But, after some reviling, he is silent unon these occasions, 
though nothing on earth can make him a believer. 

In this better way, the springtime of life, with its- 
bright clouds and sunny glades comes to Saranne and 
Little Make-Believe. 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


57 


PART IIL 

FLOWER. 


AS TIME ROLLS OK. 

Eight years have passed, and Time, the changeless, 
jhas wrought its changes upon men. The world is still in 
-labor, as it hath ever been, and ever will be until the 
Reign of Peace shall have truly commenced — which will 
be only when man has changed his nature. But although 
multitudes in their human shape shall never be able to 
welcome this better time, to each man it comes in his 
turn, and none shall escape the Divine transmutation. 
From this history of every day events no actor who has 
played a prominent part therein has yet departed; upon 
the comedy or the tragedy of their lives the curtain has 
not yet fallen. But some are withering, while others are 
ripening. In these suggestive aspects a comprehensive 
picture of the world is seen; here wrapped in darkness, 
there bathed in light, at one and the same moment. Thus 
side by side march joy and sorrow, life and death. 

During these eight years Mr. Deepdale’s hair has grown 
gray, but his heart is as susceptible as ever to charitable 
and tender impressions. Wonderfully like him is his son 
Walter, now a fine young fellow of three-and- twenty; the 
two are even closer together than they were in earlier days 
when Walter was a child, and therefore presumably more 
easily led. The secret of this lies as much in sympathy 
as in love. These inseparable companions are more like 
t\yin brothers than father and son. 

Thomas Dexter’s hair has grown white, and he has 
contracted a serious and refiective habit of mind. This 
is due to a more frequent association with Mr. Deepdale 
and Walter, who exercise over the old curiosity dealer 
an unconscious infiuence for good. It has led as yet to 
no practical results, no crisis having occurred to necessi- 
tate decided action. His intimacy with Little Make-Be- 
lieve and Saranne continues, and he is occasionally kind 


58 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


to them in a larger degree than the bestowal of occasional 
pennies. This was especially conspicuous on tlie occasion 
of the death of their father, when he presented them with 
black frocks. It was a gift they appreciated, for despite 
his useless and evil life they mourned their father witli 
genuine sorrow, and they would have been shocked had 
any person ventured to tell them that their loss was a 
blessing. 

So, but for three friends, in no wise related to them, 
and of whom circumstance or the freak of fortune might 
deprive them at any moment, Little Make-Believe and 
Saranne were alone in the world. They still led their 
precarious life, beset now with peril because of dawn- 
ing womanhood, crowned, in Saranne’s case, with 
beauty which made people stare after her in the 
streets. The contrast between the sisters was very 
marked. Beautiful as is the springtime of life it had in- 
vested Little Make-Believe with no grace of form or feat- 
ure; she fulfilled the promise of her childhood by grow- 
ing up stunted and plain. She cared not; she lived but 
for the happiness of one iiurnan being, and that assured 
she was herself happy. She gloried in Saranne’s beauty, 
and was as proud of it and as fond of setting it out in its 
best light as the most devoted mother could have been. 
Whatever dreams and fancies she indulged in were all for 
Saranne and Saranne’s future. Dangerous dreams, but 
indulgence in them was a sweet pastime for which neither 
she nor Saranne was ever disinclined. The kernel of 
these dreams was that Saranne was to marry a prince. 
Heaven knows from what mysterious fairyland the prince 
was to come, but he would surely come one day and woo 
and win her. There is a brief time in our lives when we 
see the future through a shining veil which reflects, in 
their most entrancing forms, our bright wishes and de- 
sires. So Saranne was to marry a prince, though now she 
trod the gutters, and lived in a very grim world of priva- 
tion and suffering. 

It is not entirely ingenuous to say that all Little Make- 
Believe’s dreams and fancies were for Sarainne. There 
was one — but was it a dream or a fancy? it is hard to say; 
scarcely can it be called a hope — there was one vision, call 
it by what name you will, which Little Make-Believe 
treasured in her heart of hearts, upon which she dwelt 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


59 


and mused, and built up airy castles such as we weave 
out of a floating cloud in a fair sky. It became with her a 
worship, hidden in a holy sanctuary, never spoken of to 
a soul, not even to Saranne, scarcely intelligible as to 
its ending even to herself. But unsubstantial, unreal as 
it was, it grew into an abiding happiness, and sweetened 
many a bitter hour. 

And then again, as to this prince whom Saranne was 
t?o marry. It was at first— for it was a favorite theme for 
years — a perfectly ideal fancy. The prince was to appear 
in a cloud, to be met with in the market, to knock at the 
door and announce himself with a radiant smile. He was 
for a time nothing more than a delightful myth, but it 
was not long before he found a place in Saranne’s heart, 
and never was mention of him made by Little Make-Be- 
lieve that Saranne could not, had she pleased, have given 
him a name. But she did not please. As Little Make- 
Believe had one secret, which she kept to herself, likewise 
had Saranne; and neither of the sisters was conscious that 
something was hidden from her by the other. 

Polly Cleaver and Holy Joe still lived together. Low 
as was their condition, they were, in a certain worldly 
sense (whicli, despite its degradation, had also its moral 
side), faithful to each other; and during all these years 
neither of them troubled the man they had wronged — 
who, on his part, did not trouble them. Time had not 
improved Polly. The vice of drink had eaten into her 
soul so deeply that there was no escape for her. The 
demon held her tight, and the too- willing slave gave her- 
self up to the horrible thralldom. In a man it is shocking 
to contemplate: to behold it in a woman — as it is to be 
seen daily in the London streets — both saddens and 
shames us. 

Foxey, now a strong man, strong in his limbs and in his 
passions, pursued the uneven tenor of his way. So pro- 
nounced was his vagabond nature that, with a certain class 
of reformer, he became somewhat of a favorite — being in 
a measure a boon to them. They preached to him and at 
him, and endeavored, by a distinctly wrong process, to in- 
culcate in him some consciousness of right and wrong and 
of human responsibility; they even (he being willing as 
long as he was ]iaid for it) made a show of him; but they 
did not discover a way of utilizing for the public’s good 


60 


LITTLE MA.KE'BELIEVE. 


and his own this perplexing lump of human material. 
Nevertheless, he had his uses, if only to serve as a peg 
upon which moral axioms could be hung. OnCe every 
year, in tlie days of his freedom, did he leave Clare Mar- 
ket of his own will, and that was in the hopping season, 
when he took liis rough holiday of fresh air and brighter 
scenes. 

An experience of a better kind than the words of cut- 
and-dried moralists happily befell him and left its perma- 
nent mark upon him. In what kind of deed he had been^ 
engaged, history, as recorded in newspaper columns, is 
silent; whatever its nature may have been, be sure it was 
not heroic. All that is known, and that only to the few 
concerned, is that late at night Little Make-Believe found 
him lying wounded and bleeding in a cohrtyard, which was 
very little frequented after dark. 

Hearing a groan she stooped and saw the body of a* 
man, who, as she knelt by him, recovered consciousness^ 
He seized her hand, with a grasp so powerful that she 
could not release herself. 

Who are you, and wliat do yer want?’’ 

I am little Make-Believe, and I'heerd some one 
groan. Are yer hurt much?” 

‘‘ I’d frighten yer out of yer life,” I suppose,” said 
Foxoy, still holding her hand, if I was to tell yer I’m 
that hurt that it’s all up with me, unless I get somebody 
to stand by me.” 

‘‘Oh, let me go,” cried Little Make-Believe, full of 
compassion, “and I’ll get help!” 

“ No,” he said, “ nobody must know, nobody must see^ 
me till I’m better. I’m jest out of quod, and I don’t 
want to get in agin without a spell o’ liberty. I know 
where yer live; there’s a yard in the back and a shed in 
it. Would yer mind my hiding there fur a day or so?” 

“It don’t matter to me,” said Little Make-Believe,. 
“ but make haste, or yer’ll bleed to death.” 

He was bleeding from a great gash in his neck. 

“Haven’t ye.r got nothink to bind it up with, Make- 
Believe?” 

She tore off a piece from her frock, and herself bound 
up the wound. 

“ Now will yer help me to the shed?” 

“Yes.” 


.LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


61 


And yer won’t peach?” 

‘^What do yer take me for?” 

All right. Let me lean on yer shoulder; I won’t hurt 
yer more nor I can help.” 

Unobserved, they made their way to the shed, and there 
Foxey remained in hiding for nearly a fortnight. Little 
Make-Believe never asked him how lie Ciime by his wound, 
nor did she breathe a word to a soul that he was in hiding. 
During the time he lay concealed she supplied him with as 
much food as she could spare — he having no money to pur- 
chase it; it was often nothing more than dry bread, but he 
was grateful for it, and gazed upon her with a kind of 
wonder when she came to his hiding-place in the dead of 
night to see what she could do for him. When he was 
able to get away he said to her: 

^‘A friend for life, Make-Believe — mind that! Yer 
friend for life, that’s what I am. Unless I’d seen it with 
my own eyes, I’d never have believed it was in a gal to do 
it. I’m damned if it ain’t almost believing! but I’m 
living here to tell it, and it ain’t to be disputed.” 

Rough as he was, there was an underlying touch of ten- 
derness in his manner that put an inspiration into Little 
Make-Believe’s head. 

‘‘Foxey,” she said, “would yer like to pay me for 
what I’ve done for yer?” 

“ Would I like to pay yer! WoioldnH I like to pay yert 
I’d give two of my fingers to do it. But where’s the 
money to come from?” 

“It ain’t money — don’t think that. It’s a promise I 
want yer to give me.” 

“ I’ll give yer a hundred blooming promises!” 

“ I only want one.” 

“ It’s youi-’n afore it’s arsked. 

“ I want yer to get an honest living. 

Foxey gave a long whistle, looked at her in silence for 
full a minute, and tlien turned away. He was not sure 
how far he was bound by his promise, and felt like a fox; 
who was caught in a trap of liis own setting. 


62 


LITTLE MAKE-BELII>VE. 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE AMD SARANME RECEIVE AM IMVI. 

TATIOM. 

It was summer, and Mr. Deepdale and Waller were in 
the country. This change of residence had been brouglifc 
about in the following manner. For some time past 
Walter had been anxious about his father, whose health 
seemed to be failing, and as this was a matter which 
touched his heart very closely, he consulted a doctor, who 
was at once pliysician and friend.” 

'^Let us have the symptoms,” said the doctor, after 
Walter'had explained the cause of his visit. 

My father,” said Walter, ‘Ms often dejected.” 

“So are most men at times. I am often dejected.” 

“But my father was never so until lately.” 

“Nonsense, nonsense. You mean you never noticed it 
till lately — the reason being, Walter, that he showed you 
ever his sunny side.” 

“He does that now, sir, and brightens up immediately 
at sight of me, unsuspicious that i have been closely ob- 
serving him.” 

“ Good lad. His appetite?” 

“Falling off.” 

AViiat other symptoms?” 

“We sleep in adjoining rooms. On two occasions 
within the last month I have woke up in the night with 
an uneasy impression on my mind. On each occasion I 
have gone into my fathers room and have found him 
awake. He was always a sound sleeper.” 

“ On those occasions did he address you cheerfully?” 

“Yes; even with more than usual tenderness.” 

“There is no cause for uneasiness, Walter. In the 
course of the week I will call and see him, not as a doctor, 
but as a friend, then I will take notes.” 

The result of these notes was that the physician advised 
Walter to take his father into the country. 

“There are ailments,” he said, “which are bevond the 
physician’s art to discover without the aid of those who 
suffer from them. I can satisfy you on one point; your 
father is not afflicted witli any organic disease, but there 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


63 


appears to be something on his mind. Even there I may 
be wrong; it is quite as likely that all he needs is change 
of air and scene. Perhaps it will be as well to let him 
think that it is you who need the change.” 

This innocent deceit was practiced, and at the begin- 
ning of summer Walter and. his father were the occupants 
of a small cottage, situated about a mile from Rochester, 
owned by a motherly woman, who attended to their wants. 
It was one of the prettiest cottages imaginable; its walls 
were covered with roses, and it lay in the midst of a very 
garden of flowers. Surrounded by lovely scenery and 
within an hour and a halts railway ride to London, it 
would have been difficult to have found a more convenient 
and beautiful residence. Contended and happy, however, 
as Mr. Deepdale appeared to be when Ife and his son were 
together, the change did not remove from him the dejec- 
tion which Walter had observed in him, and at length 
the young man mustered sufficient courage to approach 
the subject in conversation. Between these sensitive and 
sympathetic souls courage really was required to approach 
a theme the opening of which might suggest that on one 
side or the other there was some considerate concealment 
of suffering. 

‘‘Are you quite well, dad?” 

“Quite well, Wally.” And Mr. Deepdale raised his 
eyes to his son’s face, for there was a tremulous ring in 
the young man’s voice. 

“And happy?” 

“ Quite happy.” And now the tremulousness of Wal- 
ter’s tones found a response in his own. “Why, what 
should make me otherwise?” 

“Nothing in my knowledge, dad.” 

“Now, ordinarily, according to the fashion in which 
these two generally carried on a conversation, tlie answer 
to this, from Mr. Deepdale, would have been, “ Nor in 
mine, Wally.” But on the present occasion these words 
were not spoken. 

“ I’ll tell you why I ask, dad.” 

“ Do, Wally.” 

“ First,” said Walter, in a cheerful tone, to convey to 
his father the assurance that there was no grievance in his 
mind of which he intended to complain, “ because since 


64 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


you have been liere you have written a great number of 
letters to London.” 

Business letters, VYally. That is your first; now for 
your second.” 

‘‘ Dad, you don’t sleep as well as you used to.” 

Ah, you have found that out,” 

Yes, dad.” 

And it is causing you uneasiness.” 

^‘Naturally, dad. Would you not be uneasy if you 
had reason, or supposed you had reason, to suspect that I 
was unwell.” 

My boy, you are all the world to me. So you have 
been watching me, you rascal, while I was not looking. 
But, Wally, you must remember that I am not growing 
younger, and that old age, as it creeps on, brings with it 
a sack full of infirmities. Oh, it will come to you, as it 
has come to me, and it must be accepted. I don’t think 
that either of us is overburdened with philosophy, but it 
will be a good plan in your course through life never to 
trouble trouble till trouble troubles you.” 

Walter smiled at this, and saying there was a deal of 
sense in it, did not pursue the subject. Deeper cause for 
uneasiness would have been afforded him could he have 
seen his father that night, who, after sitting by his bed- 
side till he fell asleep, stole to his own chamber and pored 
with distressed face over the letters he had received from 
London. I will go to town in the morning,” he said, 
inly, and see if nothing can be done.” When the morn- 
ing came he informed Walter of his intention, and an- 
ticipated his son’s request to accompany him by saying 
that he wished to go alone. 

^‘^It is on legal business,” he said, ^Mn connection with 
my property that I have to attend to, and I am afraid you 
would be in the way.” 

Then it occurred to Walter that his father was about to 
make a will, and though the very thought of a will was 
saddening, because it was suggestive of death, he reluct- 
antly consented to the arrangement. 

Mr. Deepdale was absent two days, and returned in a 
more cheerful mood. 

Ah, that is good, dad,” said Walter, ‘^you look better.” 

I feel better, Wally, and that’s better than looking it.” 

He had much to tell. He had seen Little Make-Believe 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


65 


tind Saranne, and he talked a great deal about the sisters, 
-one of whom at least was battling bravely with the world. 

“ The sight of that brave child,” he said, ‘‘no longer 
a child though — she and Saranne are quite young women 
now — the sight of Little Make-Believe, coupled with the 
knowledge that we have of her, toiling in her humble way 
without a murmur, should teach us a lesson. There is 
something heroic in the struggle. She makes no head- 
way; I doubt if they are any better olf to-day than they 
were on the night we first made their aquaintance. Do 
jou remember, Wally? The grotto, the story Little Make- 
Believe was telling, the three-penny-piece, and the eel-pie 
supper?” 

They recalled these incidents as they strolled through a 
long narrow lane which led to the woods. The full glory 
of summer was upon them; the corn was ripening, the 
hedges were gay with wild flowers. 

“ I am not at all sure,” said Mr. Deepdale, “ that 
Make-Believe has not within herself a consolation which 
is almost a recompense, so far as she herself is concerned, 
for the hardships she has suffered since her infancy. The 
power to be able to conjure up at will pictures of our cir- 
cumstances as we would wish them to be, and to believe 
in them as they live in our minds— what is that worth, 
Wally, to one who does not often see the sun?” 

“There is the awaking, dad.” 

“True, Wally, true,” said Mr. Deepdale, with a sigh, 
“ there is the awaking.” 

A day or two afterward, when they were speaking 
again of the sisters, Mr. Deepdale said, suddenly, 

“I’ve been thinking, Wally — ” 

“ Yes, dad, you’ve been thinking — ” 

“What do you suppose?” 

“That, as Little Make-Believe and Saranne have lived 
all their lives in Clare Market, and have never in all 
probability spent a day in the country — have perhaps never 
even seen the country — what a capital thing it would be 
fo have then! down here for a little while.” 

“It would be a capital thing, Wally.” 

“That it would, dad.” 

“ I do believe, Wally, you can see into my mind.” 

“I am certain I can see into your heart, dad.” 

That is how it came about that before the week was out, 
8 


66 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


the postman, with a sharp double rap at the door of the 
house in Clare Market in which the sisters lived, asked 
whether Little Make-Believe lodged there. 

‘‘In course she do/’ said the woman who answered the 
door. 

“ Is she in?” 

“Perhaps she is, and perhaps she ain’t.” 

“ Would you mind seeing?” 

He had a desire to give the letter himself into the hands 
of the girl with a name so strange. There is a legend that 
there exists in the force one who is at the same time a 
poet and a policeman, and that this remarkable individual 
has actually written songs for the music halls. Thej)resent 
postman, who was new to the Clare Market district, may 
have been the man, and his poetical tendencies may have 
caused him to be curious about a person addressed as 
Little Make-Believe, and have inspired him with an idea 
that he might make a song out of her for a Lion Comiquet 

“ I’ll call her,” said the woman, and she screamed down 
the stairs at the top of her voice, “ Here, Make-Believe! 
Yer wanted!” 

Up ran Little Make-Believe, and confronted the post- 
man. 

“Are you Little Make-Believe?” asked he. 

“Yes, that’s me.” 

“ Well, here’s a letter for you.” 

“A letter for me! Goon! Yer gammoning!” 

“There it is, at all events.” And he pushed the letter 
into her hand, and continued his rounds. He had not 
derived inspiration from her for a comic song. 

Little Make-Believe stood for a moment or two in a state 
of stupefaction with the letter in her hand. A letter for 
her! It was an event so strange and startling that it took 
away her breath. Never in her life had she received a 
letter; she could scarcely believe that she was awake. 
When she had sufficiently recovered she made her way 
down -stairs. 

“ What was it?” asked Saranne. 

“It’s a letter,” said Little Make-Believe, solemnly. 

Saranne looked up and laughed. “ You’re pretending,” 
she said. 

“Not this time, Saranne. Here it is.” 

Thanks to the good offices of Walter, both of them 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


67 


could read and write, and had the letter been in his 
writing they would have recognized it, but it was Mr. 
Deepdale who had written. 

Little Make-Believe laid the letter unopened on the 
table, and the sisters gazed at it, half frightened. 

‘‘Who’s it from?” said Saranne. “What can it be 
about? I hope it ain’t something bad.” Suddenly she 
clapped her hands, and danced in her seat. “Somebody’s 
fell in love with you, and has sent an offer of marriage!” 

What was it that made Little Make-Believe tremble and 
turn red and white? 

“Open it — open it,” cried Saranne, “and let’s see.” 

Of the two, Saranne had proved by far the aptest 
scholar. She could read and write much better than 
Little Make-Believe; she spoke better also. It was not 
that Little Make-Believe did not take as much pride in 
the lessons given by Walter as Saranne did, but she was 
the bread-winner, and had less time on her hands and 
something more serious to occupy her mind. Saranne, 
therefore, being the prize scholar. Little Make-Believe 
opened the letter, slowly and nervously, and gave it to 
her to read. It was simple, terse, and to the point. 

“ Dear Little Make-Believe and Saranne,” it ran, “ We are, as 
you know, in the country, where we shall stop till summer is over, 
and my son has an idea in his head which perhaps will please you. 
You don’t see much of the country, which just now is very beauti- 
ful, and if you would like to come and stop here for a few days it 
will do you good. You have only to say ‘ yes,’ and go to Mr. 
Dexter, who will arrange everything for you. A ramble or two 
in the woods will make you strong. 

“ Your friend, 

“W. H. Deepdale.” 

“ Oh, my!” 

That was all they could say for several moments. Sar- 
anne’s face was scarlet with excitement and joy; Little 
Make-Believe was no less happy, but she showed it in a 
different way. Her face was very pale, and her eyes were 
full of tears. 

“ Let’s read it again,” said Saranne. 

So they read it again, and read it a third time, and 
then Saranne cried, 

“ It ain’t a dream! It’s real!” 

Undoubtedly it was real, but for all that nothing would 
have surprised Little Make-Believe less than to see the 


68 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


letter and the envelope suddenly whisked away. It was; 
too good to believe. They had never received a letter — 
and here was one. They had never been in the country^ 
and here was an invitation to go, not for an hour, or a 
day, but for a few days — an invitation from gentlemen 
who had proved themselves their dearest friends. That 
two such stupendous amazing, almost incredible events 
should occur all in a moment required a good deal of 
getting over. 

^^Did you ever,” asked Saranne, pretend anything 
half so wonderful, Make-Believe?” 

No,” replied Little Make-Believe, I never did^ 
Saranne.” 

It required such a very great deal of getting over that 
they had not got half, no, nor a quarter over it before a 
visitor entered unannounced. It was Thomas Dexter, 
who had also received a letter with reference to the pro- 
posed holiday. His appearance did not surprise them; it 
would be difficult to say what would have surprised them 
just then. 

Directly Thomas Dexter entered Saranne said to him: 

I wish you would do me a favor, Mr. Dexter.” 

‘‘What is it?” 

“ Pinch me — hard!” 

Thomas Dexter pinched her, hard, so hard that she 
gave a scream, and cried in the same breath: 

“ I don’t mind, so long as it ain’t a dream.” 

Thomas Dexter understood the meaning of these pro- 
ceedings. That the girls should be astonished was quite 
natural; he was astonished himself. But it was a good 
opportunity for the sisters, and he was glad for their sakes. 
When he had succeeded in somewhat calming them, he 
explained the object of his visit. Their distant friends 
had shown not only kindness but thoughtfulness, and he 
was the appointed agent to carry out their wishes. 

“ The question is,” said Thomas Dexter, “ as you’ve 
made up your minds to go” — (as they had made up their 
minds to go! what a thing to say!) — “the question is, 
what are you going in?” 

Their faces dropped. What were they going in? It 
was, indeed, a question, for the clothes they stood up in 
were all the clothes they possessed. 

“ It wouldn’t do,” continued Thomas Dexter, “to go 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


69 


as you are. You must each of you have a decent frock 
and a decent pair of boots, and a decent hat or bonneU 
How is it to be done?” 

Down to earth they came, straight from their seventh 
heaven. It was Saranne’s eyes now that were filled with 
tears, and Little Make-Believe’s face that was red. 

“Yes, Mr. Dexter,” said Little Make-Believe, sadly; 
she hardly dared to look at Saranne, “it’s very good of 
yer to remind us. We can’t go as we are, and we ain’t 
got nothink better to wear than what yer see. It’d make 
people talk, and Mr. Deepdale’d be sorry he’d arksed us. 
I’m afeerd, arter all, we sha’n’t be able to go.” 

“ Oh, don’t say that, Make-Believe,” sobbed Saranne, 
“ don’t say that!” 

“ It must be sed if it’s got to be sed,” was Little Make- 
Believe’s response. “ Saranne, my dear, yer know, don’t 
yer, that I’d sell my two hands, if anybody’d buy ’em, so 
as I could get yer a frock and boots and a hat? I would, 
sir, indeed, indeed I would!” 

“ I quite believe it,” said Thomas Dexter. 

“ I wouldn’t mind staying at home while Saranne went; 
I’m happy enough so long as I know she’s enjoying of her- 
self. But if it can’t be done, it can’t be done; we couldn’t 
do nothink ’arf so wicked as to give Mr. Deepdale and 
Master Walter cause to be ashamed of us Avhen they set 
eyes on us. And they couldn’t be nothink else hut 
ashamed if we was to go down to them with sich things 
as those on us.” 

A speech which only caused Saranne’s tears to flow more 
freely. 

“ Can’t you see no way, Make-Believe?” asked Thomas 
Dexter. 

“No, Mr. Dexter,” replied Little Make-Believe, mourn- 
fully, “ I can’t. It’s as fur out of my reach as the stars. 
We ain’t got a friend in the world, except you, and Mr. 
Deepdale, and Master Walter, and you’ve done more for 
us than ever we’d a right to expect. That, being in the 
country where everythink’s so beautiful and sweet — it 
must be, though me and Saranne has never seed it — they 
should think of us at all shows the feeling they’ve got for 
us. God bless ’em for it! There’s the pawn shops— but 
we ain’t got nothink to pop. If they’d take me, I’d go 
and pledge myself this minute, but they know their book. 


70 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEYE. 


the pawn-brokers do. No, Mr. Dexter, there’s no way as 
I can see.” 

As to pretending, now. Ain’t there nothing to be 
made out of that?” 

She looked at him reproachfully and said, so pathetic- 
ally that Thomas Dexter resolved to torment her no longer. 

Don’t make game of me, sir.” 

I don’t mean to do so. Don’t think that of me. But 
now. Little Make-Believe, Fm a-going to pretend.” She 
smiled pitifully. Who knows? Something might 
come of it. But yer mustn’t look at me; it’s a new game 
to me, and it might spoil the luck.” 

Little Make-Believe laid her head on the table, not in 
obedience to his wish, but because grief impelled her to 
do so. Saranne’s back was turned, and she could not see 
him, 

‘‘ I pretend,” continued Thomas Dexter, that on 
Thursday, as sure as ever it comes round, you and Saranne 
shall be taken to Victoria station, and put in a second- 
class railway carriage, with tickets for Kochester. I pre- 
tend that yer shall both of yer have new frocks, and new 
boots, and new hats. I pretend that before yer go to 
sleep to-night yer shall write a little note to Mr. Deep- 
dale — you’ve got his address in that letter — thanking him 
for his invitation, and telling him you’re coming, t pre- 
tend that yer shall go to-morrow, or before yer two hours’ 
older — there’s plency of shops open; it’s only eight 
o’clock — yer shall go out and buy the frocks, and the 
boots, and the hats, if you don’t care to wait. I pretend 
that you’ve got money to pay for ’em. T pretend that 
yer shall come to me and confess that I ain’t making 
game of you. And thirdly and lastly, as the preachers 
say, if my pretending ain’t as good as your pretending, 
my name ain’t Thomas Dexter, and I’ll never try to pre- 
tend no more.” 

A dead silence followed; there was not a sound in the 
I’oom except that of Saranne’s suppressed sobs. Sur- 
prised and relieved at the silence — for while Thomas 
Dexter was speaking she was in an agony of torture — and 
moved by Saranne’s sobs. Little Make-Believe raised her 
head, and was about to clasp Saranne in her arms, when 
she started to her feet with a cry of almost delirious 
ecstasy. For on the table lay a sheet of note paper and 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE, 71 

an envelope, stamped, and by their side lay two ffolden 
sovereigns. 

Look, Saranne, look!” exclafmed Little Make-Believe, 
beating her hands together, and pulling Saranne from 
her chair. He wasn^t pretending at all, and he wasn’t 
mocking us! 0, Saranne, Saranne!” 

The revulsion of feeling was, indeed, almost too much 
for her; she laughed and cried in a breath, and Sar- 
anne, seeing that heaven had opened its gates to them, 
laughed and cried with her. It was a long time before 
they were sufficiently composed to speak calmly of the 
matter. 

I didn’t think it was in Mr. Dexter,” said Saranne, 
‘‘to be so out-and-out good to us. I’d like to kiss him.” 

“ He was very kind,” said Little Make-Believe, “but 
the two sovereigns don’t come out of his pocket. Yer 
mustn’t forget that.” 

“ He gave ’em to us, Make-Believe.” 

“ And Mr. Deepdale sent ’em tor us. Don’t yer see 
what it says in the letter? ‘ You’ve only to say Yes, and 
go to Mr. Dexter who will arrange everything for you.’ 
Well, instead *of our going to him he’s come to us. 
How, Saranne, we must write the letter to Mr. Deepdale.” 

“Oh my, Make-Believe! What shall we say?” 

“ I don’t know; we must think. You’re the best 
writer, Saranne. Take hold of the pen. It wouldn’t do 
to write something out of a book or a newspaper, would 
it?” 

Little Make-Believe walked up and down the room, and 
puckered her brows, and closed her eyes, and rubbed her 
forehead, and looked into the corners of the ceiling, as 
many a perplexed writer has done before her, while 
Saranne put the pen in her mouth, and gazed anxiously at 
the brain- worker. Little Make-Believe wanted to think 
of something very grand to say, but nothing grand would 
come; her mind had become a perfect blank. 

“Make haste, Make-Believe, or all the shops will be 
shut.” 

This quickened her somewhat, and she said, “ You’d 
best commence with ‘ To-night.’ That’ll show we’re 
writing to-night.” 

Saranne, after much preparation, put her pen to paper, 
and then discovered she had no, ink. Little Make-Believe 


72 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


ran out and bought a penny bottle, and by the time she 
returned had formulated her ideas. 

Now then, Saranne, ‘To-night. Eespected Sir, and 
dear Master Walter ’ 

“That’s nice,” said Saranne, “‘and dear Master 
Walter.’ Goon.” 

“ ‘ We’re that grateful to yer,’ ” continued Little Make- 
Believe, “ ‘ that we don’t know what to say, except that 
we’re coming, and we shall never, never, never forget your 
kindness. From the bottom of our hearts — ’ and that’ll 
do, I think,” said Little Make-Believe, pulling up sud- 
denly. 

“ We must write our names, Make-Believe, or they 
won’t know who it’s from.” 

So they wrote their names, one under the other, and put 
the letter into the envelope. Then they went out to post 
it, and to look at the clothes shops. “ I hope the post- 
man won’t stick to it,” said Little Make-Believe as, after 
some hesitation, she dropped the letter into the pillar-box; 
“ I’ve a good mind to wait here till he comes, to see as he 
doesn’t take it out of the bag and pocket it hisself.” But 
with the delightful task in view of spending money in 
clothes she gave up that idea, and walked away from the 
pillar-box with many a lingering look behind her. They 
went to a second-hand wardrobe shop, where the womnn 
who kept it — satisfying herself first that the sovereign 
which Little Make-Believe showed her was a good one — 
gave her the benefit of her experience in the selection of 
frocks and hats. The choosing of colors and materials 
occupied them for a considerable time; Little Make-Be- 
lieve was very soon suited — a brown stuff frock and a plain 
straw hat, which the woman declared, almost with tears 
in her eyes,, were dirt cheap for four shillings and six- 
pence, were purchased for her. Far more difficult was 
the selection of a frock and hat for Saranne, who at length 
was made happy by becoming the possessor of a blue frock 
of soft cashmere and a hat trimmed with ribbons and little 
bunches of forget-me-nots. These could not be obtained 
for less than eleven shillings, and the balance of the sov- 
ereign was expended in stockings and some pieces of col- 
ored ribbons for the further adornment of the beauty of 
the family. The purchase of boots and sundry other 
small requirements was left for the next day. "Loaded 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


7a 


with their purchases. Little Make-Believe and Saranne re- 
turned home, as happy, nay, perhaps happier than any two 
human beings within a dozen miles of them. There was 
much to do at home that night; the frocks, being second- 
luind, did not exactly fit; alterations were required in 
them, which, of course, it fell to the lot of Little Make- 
Believe to make. She was quite clever with her needle, 
and the way she set to work, snipping, and cutting, and 
altering would have been a lesson for many a dressmaker. 
Long before she was done Saranne was abed and asleep, 
dreaming fairy dreams, with smiles on lier lips and joy in 
her heart. Not less happy was Little Make-Believe, who 
sat till nearly two in the morning engaged in her labor of 
love.^ As she cut and stitched there was a smile also on 
her lips, and in her heart a song. The common room was 
glorified, the gleam of the one thin candle a very blaze of 
light. The faded and torn paper on the walls, tlie black 
ceiling, the hard bed, the scanty furniture — these were 
the unreal surroundings of this patient, sweet, unselfish 
young soul. What was the reality? Why, what a question 
to ask? Did it not shine around her in flowers and stars 
and sunlight and shining water? Forests in which the 
loveliest trees were growing to the skies, bees singing their 
songs of fruitful labor, birds chirping on the branches 
and flying to and fro from their nests, sheeps browsing, 
cows being milked, fragrant winds blowing, a myriad 
graceful shapes floating in the air, lakes in which the fish 
were gleaming, visions of an Aladdin’s cave sparkling with 
jewels which were theirs for the gathering, a marble castle 
with white steps leading to flowered terraces over which la- 
dies and gentlemen were wandering, sounds of invisible 
music — earth, air, and heaven yielding their sweetest fan- 
cies to fill with ineffable gratitude and happiness the heart 
of our Little Make-Believe whilst she plied her needle in 
that common room in Clare Market. And from all these 
imaginings, as though he was the subtle essence which 
gave them birth and invested them with their wondrous 
beauty, the figure of "W^t^’^Deepdale with his handsome 
face and gentle voice was never absent. Dream on. Lit- 
tle Make-Believe. Even to you, bending over the second- 
hand frock you are altering for Saranne — even to you in 
that small dimly-lighted room has come a foreiniste of 
heaven. 


u 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE KECEIVES AH’ OFFER OF MARRIAGE. 

The following day, after purchasing their boots, Little 
Make-Believe and Saranne went to Thomas Dexter and 
thanked him. He expressed his satisfaction, and asked 
Little Make-Believe what she thought of his pretending. 

It was fust class,’’ she replied. I wish / could pre- 
tend like that.” 

‘‘ You’d pretend a lot of things into reality, if you 
could.” 

That I would. We shouldn’t want for much.” 

I ought to have told yer that the two sovereigns 
were sent by Mr, Deepdale. They didn’t come from me.” 

We thought so, sir.” 

Will you have money enough?” 

** Yes, Mr. Dexter; plenty.” 

You’ve bought frocks, hats, and boots.” 

‘‘And some other things we wanted as well. Why, 
we never had so much money to spend in all our lives!” 

“ But there’s something you haven’t bought that yer 
might want. A cape to go over yer frocks on fine days.” 

“ Oh, we can do without them, Mr. Dexter?” 

“And a cloak for rainy days.” 

“Oh, I hope it won’t rain!” cried Saranne. 

“It might, and then yer’d get wet through, and spoil 
your froc&. Now I’ve got a present for you.” 

And he brought forward two silk capes for fine days 
and two warm cloaks for rainy days. They were exactly 
alike. 

“ I don’t know,” said Little Make-Believe, “ what should 
make everybody so good to us. We ought to be the hap- 
piest of the happy — and we are, Mr. Dexter. Why, 
Saranne, we shall be regular ladies!” 

“Only,” said Thomas Dexter, gayly, “don’t grow 
proud, as other ladies do.” 

“ That could never happen, Mr. Dexter. What I want, 
sir, is for some way to show our gratitude. I’d work my 
fingers to the bone for them as has been so kind to us,” 

“No occasion to tell me that, Make-Believe. I wish 
I could come into the country with yer.” 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


75 


Now, who should be watching them through the window 
us they stood talking to Thomas Dexter but Foxey, and 
presently he saw a wonderful thing. 

After you’d done your pretending and went away,’^ 
said Saranne, and we looked up and saw the two sover- 
eigns on the table, I said to Make-Believe I’d like to kiss 
you — for I thought at first they came from you.” 

And now that you know they didn’t come from me,” 
said Thomas Dexter, ^^yer wouldn’t like to kiss me I sup - 
pose.” 

What Foxey saw at this moment was this. He saw 
Little Make-Believe go up to Thomas Dexter and kiss 
him. It was such a kiss as a child might have given to 
her father, but through Foxey’s heart shot a jealous pang. 
Presently the girls left the shop, and Foxey followed them 
unobserved. 

Good news sometimes flies as fast as bad; it was not to 
be expected that the circumstance of Little Make-Believe 
changing two golden sovereigns in the purchase of clothes 
should pass unnoticed, and Thomas Dexter himself had, 
for reasons of his own, made it known that the sisters had 
been invited to spend a few days in the country. Into 
these reasons it will be as well, in the cause of charitable 
feeling, not to enter; sufficient to say that any evil con- 
struction wlwch might have been placed upon Little 
Make-Believe’s and Saranne’s possession of so much money 
was by these means nipped in the bud. Foxey wavS one 
of those who had heard of the treat in store for the sis- 
ters. All day long he watched them without their know- 
ledge; he wanted to speak to Little Make-Believe quietly, 
with no one by, but he could not obtain an opportunity. 
Night came on, and he had not been able to exchange a 
word with her; with what was in his mind he could rest 
no longer. He knocked at the door of the house in which 
she lived, and asked the woman to tell Little Make-Believe 
that a friend wanted to speak to her. She came at once, 

‘‘Oh, it’s you, Foxey,” she said, not at all displeased to 
see him. “ What do yer want?” 

“I want to speak to yer,” he answered, “if yer don’t 
mind coming out for a minute or two.” 

Without any suspicion or fear she accompanied him to 
a part of the street where there was the least chance of 
their conversation being interrupted. 


76 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


You ain’t in any trouble, are yer?” she asked. 

‘‘No, Make-Believe,” he replied, “I ain’t in no trouble. 
I heered as you was going into the country.” 

“Yes,” she said; “it’s the fust time we’ve ever been. 
Why, whoever told yer?” 

“It’s all over the shop,” he said, gloomily; “you’ve 
been buying new dresses and boots.” 

“Yes.” 

“And you’ve been kissing Tommy Dexter.” 

She was silent; there was that in his voice which sud- 
denly made her tremble. 

“How do yer know that?” she asked, presently. 

“ I seed yer this morning as I happened to pass his 
shop.” 

“ There was no harm in it,” said Little Make-Believe, 
after another pause; “ he’s been a real good friend to Sar- 
anne and me. He knows we’re going to have a holiday — 
it’s the fust we ever had, Foxey — and he give us this morn- 
ing two nice capes and two warm cloaks.” And then sud- 
denly she exclaimed, rather fiercely, “ What makes you 
speak of it as if I was doing something wrong? Do yer 
want me to hate yer?” 

“No, Make-Believe, no!” he cried, eagerly. “If yer 
say there was no harm in it of course there was no harm 
in it.” 

“ He’s old enough to be my grandfather,” said Little 
Make-Believe; the situation was so entirely no ve 1 to her 
that she was swayed by opposing moods, which at one mo- 
ment led her into exculpation of her actions, and in the 
lext fired her with indignation at Foxey’s interference in 
:hem. “What do yer mean,” she cried, “by talking to 
ne like that? You’ve no right to watch me as I’m aware 
)n. Look here, Foxey; you’re a bad lot, I know, but I 
lever thought you was sneak enough to be a spy.” 

He quivered at this, and replied, “I’m no spy. I 
vatched yer to-day because I wanted to speak to yer alone, 
y to being a bad lot — well, I know I am; I ain’t got 
lothink to say agin that. But I ain’t a sneak, Make- 
Believe; I never went back on a pal, and never showed a 
/hite liver.” Ordinarily his voice was harsh and defiant, 
>ut it was now so mild, and his manner altogether was 
0 humble, that Little Make-Believe reproached herself 
or being hard to him. 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


77 


ril take back about the sneak/’ she said, “ but it is 
strange you should have been watching me all day. What 
for?” ’ 

“That’s what I’m coming to, but I must settle about 
Tommy Dexter first. It made my blood boil to see yer 
kiss him. Do yer do it often?” 

“ I never did it afore, though you’ve no right to aiks.” 

“ Perhaps not, yet — ” and he looked at her with such 
eager eyes that she began to tremble again. But I may 
have. Ba4 lot as I am, Make-Believe, old Tommy Dexter 
is a thousand times worse.” 

She was not one to hear her friends traduced without 
defending them, and she said, with flashing eyes, 

“ He ain’t bad; he’s done me many a good turn. If 
that’s what yer come to say to me yer might have saved 
yerself the trouble.” 

“ It’s not what I come to say.” 

And then he paused; something seemed to stick in his 
throat. 

“ Out with it, then,” said Little Make-Believe, “ if yer 
not ashamed of it. I’ve got a lot to do, and I can’t stop 
talking here all night.” 

“ Yer know that promise yer got out of me,’^ he said, 
with a mighty effort. 

“ What promise?” 

“ About me getting a honest living.” 

“ Oh, yes, I remember. Have yer kept it?” 

“ I have, Make-Believe.” 

There, now, Foxey, you’ve made me downright glad. 
Forgit anythink unkind I said to yer. Here’s my hand.” 

He took it, and did not let it go. 

“I made the promise for your sake, Make-Believe.” 

“ I know; you’re better than I thought you was, Foxey.” 

“It’s you as has made me better — and you can make 
me better still. You understand me, don’t yer?” 

“ Oh, yes, I understand yer, Foxey.” It was a great 
pleasure to her to know that she had a good influence over 
him, and she gave him a kind look. 

“Well then,” he said, “ when shall it be?” 

Her kind look changed to one of bewilderment. 

“ When shall what be?” 

“ The wedding. I’ve got a room, and some bits of furni- 
ture; ril get more afore another month’s over my head, 


78 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


and I promise to be good to yer. Yer know how I can 
keep a promise, and I’ll keep this one. When shall it be, 
Make-Believe?” 

Why!” she cried. ‘‘ Do yer mean to say yer want to 
marry me?” 

That’s it exactly, Make-Believe; there ain’t a gal in 
Clare Market tliat can hold a candle to yer; I can’t sleep 
for thinking of yer, and that’s why I’ve been follering yer 
about all this blessed day. What are yer shaking yer head 
for? Why can’t 3^ speak?” 

’Cause yer’ ve taken away my breath. I never heerd 
sich a thing in all my born days! You’re never in earnest, 
•Foxey?” 

‘‘ I am, Make-Believe. Strike me down dead if I ain’t!” 

It needed not this to convince her; mustering sufficient 
courage to look him straight in the face as he stood before 
her, blocking the way, she saw that he was, indeed, ter- 
ribly in earnest. 

‘^Come,” he said, somewhat roughly, ^^say ^I’ll have 
yer, Foxey,’ and make an end on it.” 

I can’t make an end of it that way.” 

Why?” 

‘‘ Because I don’t care for yer.” 

He took her two hands, and held them as in a vise. 

Say that agin,” he demanded. 

She steadied her voice, and repeated: 

I don’t care for yer.” 

^‘And yer won’t have me?” 

‘‘No, I won’t.” 

“ What! Arter fooling me in the way you’ve done!” 

“Who’s been fooling yer?” she asked, indignantly. 
“ Yer telling lies, yer know yer are! Here— jest let go 
my hands, or I’ll scream for help!” 

“ You’ve got no call to,” he said, in a gloomy voice, 
releasing her hands. “ Yer don’t think I’d hurt 3^er, do 
jer? But I wouldn’t give much for the man as ’d stand 
atween you and me. Ah, but yer playing with me, Make- 
Believe! you’ve only been speaking in fun. Yer want me 
to wait a bit. All right; I’ll wait, I will, if it’s six 
months.” 

“ It’s no use yer going on like that,” said Little Make- 
Believe, recognizing the necessity of being firm; “ if yer 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 79 

waited for six years, or sixty, or six hundred, I would n^t 
have yer.’^ 

On his part, now, he recognized that she was as much 
in earnest as he. 

‘‘ Is that yer last word?’’ 

It is.” 

He laid his two hands on her shoulders with a violent 
grasp, and the pain he caused her forced a scream from 
her lips. Then he left her suddenly, and as suddenly re- 
turned. 

“ That night yer found me bleeding in the road. Yer 
don’t forgit it.” 

‘‘No.” 

“ Yer knelt alongside me, and brought me to life agin. 
Yes, I might have died if yer hadn’t come. Yer don’t 
forget that?” 

“No.” 

“ Yer took me home, and give me a hiding-place in the 
shed at the back. Yer don’t forgit that?” 

“ No.” 

“ If I’d been yer own brother — no, I never want to be 
that — if I’d been yer sweetheart as you was going to git 
married to, yer couldn’t have done more for me than yer 
did. You regularly kept me for I don’t know how many 
days; yer come to me late at night and give ^le g/ub; and 
all that time yer never peached on me,. What did yer do 
it for?” 

“ I did it out of pity,” she answered. % 

“ Pity!” he exclaimed, “ But that was no good. ^ You 
couldn’t make nothink out of pity.” 

“J didn’t want to make nothink out of it,” she said. 

All as I thought of was doing yer a good turn.” 

“And all as I thought of was that you wouldn’t ha’ 
done what you did do if you hadn’t cared for me a bit.” 

“ I do care for you a little,” she said, earnestly, “ but 
not in the way you want. No, don’t look like that, or 
you’ll make me cry. See here, Foxey, I hold yer to yer 
word, yer know. Yer promised me to get a honest living. 
You’ll go on doing it, won’t yer? Yer won’t turn bad 
agin I” 

“ I don’t know what I’ll do,” he said, as he turned to 
leave her. “ Do yer think I care what becomes of me 
now?” 


80 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


He was out of sight before she could say another word.. 
Her eyes were red when she re-entered the room in which 
she had left Saranne, for she had not been able to sup- 
press her tears as she walked home'. But she did not tell 
Saranne what had made her cry, and Saranne did not 
press her, being too full of delightful anticipations of the 
coming holiday. 


FROM LIGHT TO DARKNESS. 

Wally.” 

‘^Yes, dad.” 

Tve been thinking lately that the sunshine of life is- 
very unequally spread. Some bask in it from birth to 
death, while others are condemned to walk in shadow the 
whole of their days. Doubtless it is for some wise pur- 
pose that the Great Disposer of events has so ordained, 
but there are times when one is inclined — I say it rever- 
ently — to doubt the wisdom of it. Perhaps it is also 
ordained that these disturbing rejections should come to 
us when we see stretched before us the valley of Eternal 
Light.” 

“We disagree so seldom, dad, that I am not sure 
whether it is distressing or not to hit upon a subject in 
which our ideas do not run in the same groove. You are 
growing melancholy again, and by so doing are breaking 
the contract we entered into to look only on the bright 
side. Not that I have the slightest notion, dad, except in 
a general way, why you should allow yourself to relapse 
into sadness. I have a very strong disposition not to 
allow it, and to order you — just as if our positions w'ere 
reversed, as if I were your father and you my son — in- 
stantly to put on a more cheerful habit. Now I have 
something to say upon the theme you have started, and 
which apparently has suggested itself to you by the sight 
of Little Make-Believe and Saranne in the garden there 
gathering the pease for dinner.” 

“ It was partly suggested by those two, Wally, and 
partly, also by what is in my mind concerning ourselves.” 

“ Concerning you and me, dad?” 

“ Yes, Wally. Go on; Hove to hear you talk. I travel 
back to the days of your childhood, and reflect upon the. 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE, 


81 


joy your innocent, artless little ways brought to me. The 
contrast between you as you were then and you as you are 
now — for do you know, Wally, that within even the last 
few days a great change seems to have come over you? — 
the contrast between the child and the man — my child 
and my man — is a source of the most surprising delight 
to me; a delight, my boy, which has its deep anxieties 
too.” 

* I can imagine it, dad, though I cannot reciprocate 
your feelings in what I experience by the change which 
has come over yon. It is true that, to myself as well as 
to you, a change seems to have come over me, a change I 
can scarcely describe; but I think that in a very short 
time I have grown much older; years seem to have taken 
the place of days. I know that I have not lost your con- 
fidence.” 

No, Wally, no; never think that.” 

I don’t think it, dad; if I did I should not be able to 
hide my grief from you. And I know that, some time or 
other, you will confide in me, and give mean insight into 
the sorrow which weighs upon yon. Bear this in mind, dad; 
I have been schooling myself, and I am prepared for news 
that is not entirely good, for were it so I should, before to- 
day, have been a particpator in it. Putting ourselves out 
of the question, can you, in your whole experience, find 
two human creatures who have been more thoroughly con- 
demned to walk in shadow — your own words, dad — tha?n 
Little Make-Believe and Saranno?” 

No, Wally, I don’t think I can; nay, I am sure I 
cannot.” 

‘‘ Look at them now, dad. Are they in shadow?” 

“ To all appearance they are in full sunlight, body and 
soul.” 

^^Dad, don’t you see how, in this admission — not drawn 
from fancy but from reality — you have destroyed your 
own argument? It pains me more than I can express to 
see that, whatever you*r sorrow may be, you are disposed 
to be led from the paths of sunshine in which you and I 
have walked all our lives. Say that a cloud is hanging 
over us, shall that blot out light from the world, shall it 
cause us to love each other less, shall it not reake us 
strong instead of weak? There, now, I have brought 
tears into your eyes. Forgive me, dad.” 


82 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


‘‘ They are tears of joy, Wally. You have taught me 
a lesson; I thank God for it, and for giving me yon.” 

♦ >!c * 

Time passed with Little Make-Believe and Sar- 
anne as it passes in a dream. Not for a few days, 
but for many weeks, did they abide in the country 
with Mr. Deepdale and Walter. They were willing 
enough, and would have been content to have remained 
for ever with friends so faithful. When in the early 
morning they heard the singing of the birds outside their 
window they could scarcely believe they were awake, and 
were often afraid to move lest the sweet sounds should 
suddenly change into the harsh cries of the Clare Market 
costermonger. The trees bending down with the weight 
of fruit, the ripening and the cutting of the corn, the 
fragrant perfume which rose from hedge and field, even 
from the commonest roadsides, after the rain, the glorious 
sunrises which they were not too indolent to rise to see, 
the flaming sunsets which tipped the branches of the distant 
trees and shone in distant windows with fiery, ruby glow, 
the wheeling and the cawing of the rooks as they returned 
to their nests, the little waterfall which fed the brook in 
which Walter and his father fished — these and numberless 
other instances of nature’s summer beauty filled their 
souls not only with wonder but with worship. Their 
wonder and their worship grew when Walter took them 
to the seaside, and they saw for the first time the 
boats and the ships coming and going, and the great 
ocean which stretched as Walter told them, to other 
lands in which people dwelt thousands and thousands 
of miles away. Was it possible that the world could be 
so beautiful? The squalor, the privations, the misery, the 
hourly struggle of their lives had vanished, and they 
breathed the air of Lotos land. In more senses than one 
was this true. For that Saranne, being very beautiful in 
lier springtime— -in which a beauty lies no painter’s brush, 
can catch — should have failed to make an impression upon 
Walter was scarcely possible. He saw her now in a new 
light; in a pretty soft dress, with a healthy color in her 
cheeks, with sparkles in her eyes. And there was a cer- 
tain refinement in her which had no room to show itself 
in their squalid home in Clare Market; she was even 
ladylike — the very reverse of Little Make-Believe, whom. 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


83 


Botliiiig outwardly could refine. It is written that love 
makes no distinctions; nobles have stooped to country- 
maids, kings to peasants; wider gulfs have been bridged 
than that which up till now had divided Saranne from 
Walter. When heart commingles with heart in innocence 
and honor, youth being there to favor the conjunction, it 
is easy to divine what will occur. It occurred to Saranne 
and Walter, and they yielded to the spell of the Enchanter 
whose presence bestows on all surrounding things a glory 
they never before possessed. It is a song whose pictured 
images are mirrored in the mid-day’s clouds, in the night’s 
shadows, in the bosom of running water. The breeze 
whispers it, the birds sing it; it is heard in the drowsy 
murmur of the woods. Through all ages has it been 
sung by mortals below, by angels above. It was heard on 
the First Day by the first man and woman, and shall be 
heard until the last, ever carrying with it, when it is 
pure, a sweet and chastening influence. For not alone in 
joy does it make itself known; it reigns in sorrow also, 
when death has taken a dear one from us, and the mantle 
then it wears is such as the angels wear. 

In their rambles through field and wood, in their idlings 
by the water’s side, in their excursions here and there to 
gather flowers, to visit poor cottages — one of Little Make- 
Believe’s chief pleasures — to see how the hops were getting 
on, io pick blackberries, to witness country sports, Saranne 
and Walter were invariably together. Little Make-Believe 
invariably a little apart. It was not premeditated; it hap- 
pened so, naturally, and was accepted. When, missing 
}ier — which was not always the case— they turned and 
called to her, she joined them, with smiles on her lips and 
in her eyes; but otherwise she lingered in the background, 
occupied with her dreams. Strange that she, who in her 
secret soul loved Walter with all the strength of which 
her nature was capable, with a love which in no wise 
weakened that she bore her sister — strange that she should 
be blind to what was passing between Walter and Saranne. 
Stranger still that, for the first time since she had taken 
^ upon nerself a mother’s duty to a sister but little younger 
than herself, she sliould be so engrossed by a secret affec- 
tion of her own as not to perceive a newer and more preg- 
nant meaning in Sarranne’s every word and look. But 
only for a little while was the veil before her eyes. 


84 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


Mr, Deepdale being absent in London, whither he had 
been lately very often called, Walter and the sisters bad a 
long, tiring happy day. They went out as soon as break- 
fast was over, and rode for a dozen miles in the carrier’s 
cart, to a cathedral town. After visiting the cathedral, 
and participating in the service, they walked by devious 
tracks to another part of the country for the purpose of 
dining in a small old-fashioned inn where an excellent 
cold meal was daily spread for travelers. They dined in 
the upper room of the inn — which had only one story to 
it — from the windows of which a wonderful landscape of 
Kentish hill and glade could be seen. Then, being urged 
thereto by the landlord — who informed them that they 
had plenty of time, and that they had only to be back by 
four o’clock to catch a coach which would set them down 
within a mile of their village — they walked two miles 
further, by other devious tracks, to see a famous tree called 
the Sisters, which was said to be not less than a thousand 
years old. They went, and dallying on the road and in the 
fields, allowed the afternoon to slip by without a thought 
of home. Then suddenly Walter cried, 

‘‘ By Jove! it’s four o’clock. We must run if we want 
to catch the coach.” 

They ran, laughing and almost breathless, to the inn, 
where they learnt that the coach had been gone a good 
half-hour, after waiting for them for several minutes. 
And then Walter said, 

“By Jove! What’s to be done?” 

“/don’t know,” laughed Little Make-Believe; “and I 
don’t know,” laughed Saranne. 

They were not in the least disturbed; they had full 
confidence in Walter, and had not the smallest doubt of 
his power to overcome even superhuman difficulties. He 
questioned the landlord as to the possibility of obtaining 
a conveyance; it was not possible, the landlord said. A 
horse? Why, yes, they could manage a horse, said the 
landlord, but he could "^not see— this with a doubtful look 
at the girls — how that would get them out of the diffi- 
culty. 

“ No more can I,” said Walter, merrily. “ Three of us 
could certainly not ride on one horse.” 

They all laughed gayly at the idea. 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


85 


Shank’s pony,” suggested the landlord, ^^and step 
out.” 

‘‘ There’s nothing else for it,” said Walter, ‘‘Come, 
girls, we must walk.” 

And off they set on a fourteen mile walk at nearly five 
in the afternoon. For the first two miles it was delight- 
ful; then fatigue began to make itself felt; they stopped 
to rest; walked on again; lagged; stopped to rest again — 
and again, and again, till Saranne said wearily, 

“ It’s no use; I can’t go any further.” 

“ Oh, but you must,” said Walter, positively. ’ 

Twenty or thirty yards further on Walter looked at her 
solicitously. She shook her head. 

“ I really don’t think I can do it.” 

“Then, by Jove!” he said, “I shall have to carry you; 
for done it must be.” 

Without more ado he lifted her in his arms and carried 
her awhile; but although her arm was round his neck, 
n,nd her face almost, nay, sometimes quite, touched his 
— what else could be expected on such rough and uneven 
roads? — it was beyond his strength to carry her far, and he 
was presently compelled to set her down. 

“ It will be a case,” he said, “ of the children in the 
woods. I wish we could find some blackberries.” 

Little Make-Believe had been hunting for some, and she 
called out that the hedges where she was standing were 
full of them. They joined her immediately. 

“ The worst of it is,” said Walter, putting some of the 
ripest berries into Saranne’s mouth, “ that the story isn’t 
a bit of good without a Wicked Uncle.” He called out 
very loud, “ Will a Wicked Uncle oblige us by appear- 
ing?”, 

“ Or a bear?” cried Saranne. 

“Or a prince?” cried Little Make-Believe. “Or a 
fairy with a glass coach?” 

‘‘Meanwhile,” said Walter, “until something does 
come we’ll go on eating blackberries. Here’s a fine bunch, 
Saranne.” 

So these three careless happy people lingered by the 
roadsides and gathered berries while the evening shadows 
were gathering round them. Fortunately something did 
come: and they were not left to tlieir own devices. They 


86 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


lieard the jolting of a cart over the road they had trav- 
ersed. 

Here’s the glass coach/’ said Saranne; Make-Be- 
lieve is always right.” 

Presently the cart came into view. 

‘^I’m in luck,” said the driver, pulling up in front of 
them; ‘‘the landlord down yonder told me I stood a 
chance of catching you if I hurried. You look precious 
tired. I can take you six or eight mile if you care to 
ride.” 

There was no question about that, and a bargain was 
soon struck. If the roads had been rough and uneven 
when Walter walked over them with Saranne in his arms, 
they were a thousand times more rough and uneven now 
they were in the cart, bumping along. For the driver was 
anxious to get to his own cottage, and he urged his horse 
to make as much haste as was in the power of an animal 
that was by constitution a slow goer and plodder — and, 
consequently, a philosopher. He, sitting in front on the 
shaft, and bumping up and down as though that were his 
natural way in life, did not see his passengers, but he 
heard them cry out to him merrily to “ Stop, stop, stop!” 
By that time Saranne was pressed close to Walter’s side — 
for no other reason, of course, than that if he moved away 
from lier the millionth part of an inch something dread- 
ful might occur. 

“You really,” said Walter, “for the sake of our bones, 
must go a little slower.” 

Tliereafter they jogged along at a more sober pace (the 
driver being soothed by the promise of an extra shilling), 
but notwithstanding this improved mode of progression, 
which reduced to zero the chance of falling out of the 
cart, Saranne was still pressed close to Walter, and his 
arm was round her waist. Perhaps experience had taught 
Walter that it is as well for a man to be prepared for sud- 
den shocks when he is riding in a rough cart over rough 
country roads with a pretty girl by his side. 

It was a glorious sunset, and at Little Make-Believe’s 
request the driver pulled up, so that they could ascend a hill 
and look at it. The evening was still and peaceful, and 
the young people were for the most part silent, as they 
gazed at the wondrous color of the western skies; but now 
and then a whispered word or two from Walter’s lips 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE.' 


87 


reached Saninne’s ears. As they rode alongj again they 
watched the s-inkingof the sun tlirough the lacings of the 
distant trees; the fiery shadows, gliding hither and thither, 
seemed to be imbued with life. Lower sank the sun, till 
not the faintest line of arc could be seen; darker grew the 
dusky shadows till not a trace of restless light remained. 
And night w'as with them. 

Peaceful and beautiful. They were quite silent now. 
Not a word from their lips, only now and then a soft and 
happy sigh. The driver, with the prospect of an addi- 
tional shilling, and another on the top of that — the addi- 
tional promise having already been given by Walter — sat 
contentedly on his shaft, smoking his pipe. So amiable 
was he that he went a little out of his way to show them 
a great haystack, to which a match had been wickedly put 
in the morning by a drunken laborer smarting under a 
grievance against his master. It resembled an ancient 
castle, with turrets and towers and Gothic arches. The 
fire was still smoldering in the ruined building. Sudden 
lights appeared and disappeared; flaming shadows glided 
over the surfaces; columns crumbled to white dust; lurid 
windows shone everywhere amid the blackening patches; 
the walls bulged inward ; with a silent crash, vast pieces 
of the ceiling fell to the ground, sending myriads of 
sparks, in a furious rush, upward to the skies. 

Onward once more through the peaceful night, leaving 
the fiery wreck behind them — past tall trees which, with 
dark clouds hanging over them, seemed of a monstrous 
height — through narrow lanes dotted with familiar land- 
marks — past a pond covered with water-lilies — skirting the 
footbridge they had often crossed — nearer and nearer 
home till the cottage lights appeared. In accordance with 
Walter’s wish, the driver had brought them to within a 
hundred yards of their door. He was well paid for it, 
and giving them good-night, set his horse going, jumped 
on to the shaft, and jolted homeward, whistling. 

A hundred yards was not far to walk, but it took a long 
time, the pace being so very, very slow. Perhaps the cir- 
cumstance that Saranne and Walter joined hands as they 
walked had something to do with it. This love-palming 
is accountable for much. No one knew of it but them- 
selves; Little Make-Believe was on Walter’s left, Saranne 
on his right, so that it was his right band and her left 


88 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


wJiich were softly infolded one within the other. It is 
necessary to be correct in the endeavor to explain why they 
were such an unconscionable long time walking those 
hundred yards. 

******* 

In the middle of the night Little Make-Believe awoke.- 
Her face was turned to Saranne, who, with her back te 
her sister, was leaning on her elbow, gazing at something 
she held in her hand. On the chair by the bedside was a 
lighted candle. It was this light which had aroused 
Little Make-Believe. 

^‘Saranne!” said Little Make-Believe, and slightly 
raising herself as she spoke she saw in Saranne’s hand a 
portrait of Walter. 

“Oh, Make-Believe!’’ cried Saranne, quickly blowing 
out the candle; “ how you startled me!” 

“ I thought there was something the matter,” said 
Little Make-Believe presently; she spoke very quietly, 
“when I woke up and saw the light.” 

“ No, there is nothing the matter. I am restless, and 
can’t sleep. What a happy day we had — what a happy, 
happy day!” 

“ Yes, dear, a happy day indeed. It is hard to remem- 
ber all that occurred, it was so long and so full of pleas- 
ure.” 

“ I can remember everything — everything! I shall 
never, never forget it. Don’t 5^11 think it was the hap- 
piest, the very, very happiest day you ever spent?” 

“ Do you think so, Saranne?” 

“Yes, Make-Believe.” 

“ Then, so do I! Yer know, Saranne, that to see you 
happy makes me happy, too.” 

“ I know, Make-Believe. I am afraid I have been very 
ungrateful to you sometimes.” 

“That you never have, my dear. You have always 
been very good to me.” 

“ Make-Believe,” whispered Saranne, “ one day I may 
be able to repay you for all you’ve done for me.” 

“ To repay me, my dear? AVhy, that is as if you owed 
me somethink!” 

“ I never knew,” said Saranne, nestling closer to Little 
Make-Believe, “ till lately, when it was put into my head. 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 89 

how much I really owe you. I never even thought; of it, 
ungrateful girl that I am.” 

“ You mustn’t speak of yerself in that way. I will not 
allow you. Who has been putting such ideas into yer 
head?” 

Can’t you guess, Make-Believe? The best man that 
breathes on the earth, who loves you, and is never tired of 
speaking of you. Can’t you guess, dear?” 

A man as loves me! As calls me sister! Dou you 
want me to tell yer his name? Are yer too shy to do it 
yerself? Why, Saranne, it’s dark, and no one can see! 
And your prince is come! — didn’t I always tell yer he 

would? — and his name is ” 

Walter.” 

She pressed Saranne in her arms close to her heart. It 
was the name she expected to hear, but she had not the 
courage to mention it first; brave as she was, capable of 
self-sacrifice as she was, she was not strong enough for 
that. It was the death-knell of her hopes — which, she 
acknowledged now, but never before, held sway over her: 
as if she should ever liave had the presumption to lift her 
eyes so high! — it was the death-knell of her love, but she 
bore it nobly. 

“ Are you glad, Make-Believe?” 

Am I glad !” repeated Little Make-Believe. What 
greater happiness can I want than what youv’e told me? 
There is only one thing, my dear; he is a gentleman, and 
we are only poor girls — what will his father say?” 

“ Walter has spoken of that. He has not told hisfatker 
yet — why, Make-Believe, / only knew it to-day! — but his 
father is the best of men, after Walter of course, and 
AYalter says has never crossed him in a wish. It has made 
me proud to hear the opinion Mr. Heepdale has of you, 
Make-Believe — but Walter shall tell you all that — ” 

I’m glad Mr. Deepdale thinks well of me, though it’s 
hard to say for what reason. I’ve never done nothing 
that I know o-f except to thank him for his goodness to 
us.” 

All this time Little Make-Believe had not kissed Sar- 
nnne, whose head she had kept pillowed on her breast, 
but now by a simultaneous movement of affection, their 
lips met in loving embrace. 


90 


LITTLE MAKE- BELIEVE, 


“ Why, Make-Believe, you’re crying!” exclaimed Sar- 
anne. 

“ I’m crying for joy, my dear, at the prospect afore 
yon. With all my heart I pray that it may come to pass 
— with all my heart — with all my heart!” 

We are not to go back to Clare Market, Make-Believe; 
we are to remain here till alljs settled, and then we are to 
go to school for a year — yes, Make-Believe, you and me 
together — and Walter is coming to see us regularly — and 
at the end of the year — you can guess what Walter says 
will happen then.” 

It’s a easy guess, God bless yer both, my dear, dear 
sister, and my brother as I hope ’ll be.” 

Tliere will be no occasion for you to struggle any 
more, Make-Believe; the hard old life , is over. Walter’s 
father is rich, and we shall never, never again want for 
bread. You are crying still, Make-Believe!” 

"" My heart’s so full that it’s running over. Go on, dear.’^ 

And you are to live with us always, and never, never 
leave us till ” 

“ Till what, my dear?” 

Till your prince comes and takes you away from us.” 

‘‘That’s never going to happen, Saranne.” 

“Ah, but you don’t know, Make-Believe.” 

“ I know well enough. There’s not a bit of room in my 
lieart for any other love than what fills it now, for you and 
Walter. Go to sleep, my dear, and dream of him — and 
of me just a little. Go to sleep, my dearest dear, go to 
sleep.” 

In the midst of her tears she softly sung an old song 
with which she used to lull Saranne to sleep in the days 
of her infancy; and before a dozen broken words were 
sung, Saranne had sunk to slumber, with smiles on her 
lips and joy in her heart. And the whole night through, 
while Saranne was calmly sleeping. Little Make-Believe lay 
awake wrestling with her agony — wrestling with it anS 
striving to conquer it. 

“They mustn’t know, they mustn’t as much as suspect 
— this was the refrain of her thoughts— “ I mustn’t let ’em 
see as I’m not the happiest of the happy. It’d spoil every- 
thing if I showed ’em what a weight there was on my 
heart. Serve yer right, yer little fool, for daring to think 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


91 


of him as anything but a friend! With your ugly face and, 
common ways to go and love him as you’ve been doing — 
but mustn’t go on doing, mind! if yer do, yer false to 
Saranne, and to be false to her means that you’re the 
wickedest wretch ai crawls! — to think of him as you’ve 
been doing for ever so long — why, you must be stark star- 
ing mad! It’s all over now, that’s one good job, and you’re 
wide awake, and know what’s afore you. Oh, my poor 
heart — Oh, my poor heart!” 

And so she mourned and grieved and reproached her- 
self till daylight came, and it was time to rise. Saranne 
still slept. Very softly Little Make-Believe drew away 
the pillow upon which her head had been lying; it was wet 
with her tears; if Saranne discovered that she had been 
crying all the night she might think that Little Make- 
Believe was envious of her, or something worse perhaps. 
Not with tears but with smiles must she meet Saranne 
when she awoke. She sat in her nightdress by the side of 
her beautiful sister, and gazed at her. 

“ Wouldn’t it be the best thing that could happen if I 
was to die!” 

These words were not only in her mind; she had spoken 
them under her breath, and she clinched her teeth in 
scorn of herself as though there lurked in the words a 
treasonable wish toward the being who was knit to her by 
the closest, the dearest ties. For the purpose of accentuat- 
ing this scorn of herself, and of punishing herself for her 
baseness, she took the dressing- glass from the table and 
rested it on her knees as she took her place again by her 
sister’s side. She looked at her own plain face in the glass 
and at the loveliness of Saranne’s asit lay upon the pillow. 

You ugly little scorpion!” she whispered to'her face 
in the glass, who do yer think’d be fool enougli to fall in 
love with you f ’ 

This brought the image of Foxey to her mind; but 
though he had been fool enough to fall in love with her, 
and fool enough to ask her to marry him, his image 
brought no comfort to her; it made her shudder at herself. 
She shook her head angrily to drive him from her mind, 
and sat for half-an-hour with the glass before her, school- 
ing herself for the part she had to play. A slight move- 
ment from Saranne warned her; she replaced the glass 
quietly on the table, and plunged her face into cold water. 


92 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


Turning, witli the towel in her hand, she met her sister’s 
opening eyes with looks of affection and happiness. 

“ How good it is of you!” murmured Saranne, as Little 
Make-Believe stopped and kissed her. . ‘^It’s a lucky sign 
to wake up and see such a bright and happy face as yours. 
I’ve been breaming all night of Walter and of your prince. 
Yes, indeed I have. I don’t care what you say, Make- 
Believe. He’ll come — you’ll see if he won’t.” 

^^And what was my prince like, Saranne? Anythink 
like Walter?” 

Something like; but not so handsome as Walter; 
you could hardly expect that!” 

should hQ foolish to expect it. There’s only one 
Walter, Saranne.” 

‘‘Yes,” said Saranne, with a happy sigh, only one!” 

^ ^ * 4 : * 

On that day Mr. Deepdale returned from London. He 
had been absent a week, and letters had passed daily be- 
tween him and Walter. In Mr. Deepdale’s letters there 
had been no cause for uneasiness, and Walter was therefore 
the more grieved to perceive that a great change had come 
over his father during those few days. It almost seemed 
as if in seven days he had grown seven years older, and it 
was evident that there was a weight on his mind which 
sorely oppressed him. 

You don’t look well, dad,” said Walter. 

Don’t I, Wally? Perhaps it is because I have been 
much worried.” 

“ I am sorry to hear that.” 

‘‘Don’t be anxious about me, my boy; I shall be better 
by and by, I dare say. But you, Wally,” and he laid his 
hands upon Walter’s shoulders, “ I don’t think I have ever 
seen you look quite so well as you do now.” 

“ Dad, I have something of the utmost importance ta 
say to you.” 

“And I have something of the utmost importance to 
say to you, my boy. But let us defer our confidences till 
later in the day: I feel scarcely strong enough at present 
.to go into matters. Let me rest a little; this evening, 
Wally, we will speak in private together.” 

“Agreed, dad; but you must let me speak first.” 

“ It shall be as you wish, my boy; you shall speak first.” 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 93 

Had Walter been less in love than he was he would not 
have passed over the change in his father’s appearance so 
lightly; an hour afterward, when Mr. Deepdale was lying 
back in an arm-chair, pretending to sleep, this change 
struck Walter with deep significance, and he waited im- 
patiently for his father’s summons. It was not given till 
the sun was setting, and then Mr. DeepJale said, 

Wally, I wish you to take a walk with me.” 

“ I am ready, dad.” 

As he followed his father out of the room he exchanged 
looks with Saranne and Little Make-Believe, Saranne 
blushed, and her heart beat violently; both she and Little 
Make-Believe knew that their fate was about to be de- 
cided. 

It was a fine evening, and Mr. Deepdale and Walter 
walked to a favorite resting-place of theirs, the way being 
led by Mr. Deepdale. He spoke of various subjects with 
an attempt at lightness, but most conspicuously ill at ease. 
Presently he halted, and seating himself on the ground 
upon some dry leaves, invited Wally to sit by his side. 
The spot chosen by Mr. Deepdale was a break in the 
woods, which Wally had once sportively said he was sure 
was, a fairy haunt. It was in the midst of a circle of 
trees, and, especially at this time of the day, there was 
but little fear of their being intruded upon. 

There was silence for a moment or two. Then Mr. 
Deepdale bent toward Walter, and kissed him. The kiss 
brought tears into Walter’s eyes, it was so tenderly given. 
In a quiet tone Mr. Deepdale said, 

‘‘How, Wally, you are to speak first.” 

“ It is about Saranne, dad.” 

“ Yes, Wally,” said Mr. Deepdale, without expressing 
surprise, which Walter accepted as a good sign, “about 
Saranne.” 

“ You have noticed, dad, that she is very beautiful.” 

“I have noticed it, Wally.” 

“And as good as she is beautiful, dad.” 

“I have no doubt of that, my boy.” 

“ She has been so from childhood, from the day we 
first made her acquaintance. There was something so 
gentle about her and so sweet even in those days, that I 
used to wonder how it was that she occupied so low a 
station in life. But that was not her fault, dad.” 


94 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


“ True.” ^ ^ 

“Even then, 1 remember, I was interested in her, and 
took a pleasure in teaching her. And she learnt quickly. 
There is nothing in the way of refinement that she cannot 
acquire, because she is naturally refined. A stranger see- 
ing her here for the first time would never suspect that 
she had lived so hard and poor a life; she is well fitted to 
grace any station. I have a plan in my head with respect 
to her of which I hope you will approve,” 

“ We will come to that presently, Wally. You have, 
however, up to the present moment, left out what is most 
important in this important matter — or rather, you have 
indicated it rather than expressed it. I will supply the 
omission. You love her, Wally?” 

“ Yes, sir, I love her.” 

“ Have you spoken to her?” 

“Yes, sir, but all depends upon you. I feared that 
you might raise objections because we are gentlemen and 
she is not what is generally understood as a lady. That is 
not against her, and should not be brought against her; 
she has the instincts of a lady, and will do no discredit to 
you or me.” 

“ I have seen a great deal in her to admire, my boy; 
her sister has noble qualities, and she doubtless possesses 
them, though in a lower degree. That may spring from 
their attitude toward each other. Little Make-Believe be- 
ing, as we know, sister and parent in one to this tender 
and pretty young lady. My calling her so should satisfy 
you as to the opinion I have of her.” 

“ You make me very happy, sir.” 

“ It is my desire, my boy. I stand toward you some- 
what in the same relation as Little Make-Believe stands 
toward Saranne. My one wish in life is to see you honorably 
happy. It is not for me to stand in the way of your af- 
fections, when I have reason to suppose that the person 
upon whom you have bestowed them is good and virtuous. 

To me the difference in rank-even were I situated in 
another position than I now find myself: a remark you 
will soon understand — would and does weigh but little. 
Your mother was a poor girl when I married her, but 
everyone believed that her social standing was equal to 
mine. As I chose from the ranks of the poor, and have 
reason to be deeply, most deeply grateful in my choice, so 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


95 


I am content that you should do the same, if your heart is 
earnestly engaged/’ 

It is, sir, most earnestly engaged. I could be happy 
with no other woman.” 

You are as I was, Wally; I see myself in you. You 
spoke of a plan.” 

‘^It is this, sir. That iSaranne should be placed in 
some fitting school of your selection, where, in twelve 
months, she can learn what you may deem to be necessary 
for the new sphere of life which she will occupy. What 
slie has, in my opinion, really to learn is a lesson of for- 
getfulness, so that she shall come to us from better sur- 
roundings and associations than those amongst which she 
has hitherto moved. My plan is complete when I say 
that Little Make-Believe shall accompany Saranne, so that 
she may also benefit by the opportunity. That is all at 
present, sir.”, 

Mr. Deepdale repeated very gently, That is all at 
present;” and seemed to be nerving himself for some great 
effort. 

All this will cost money, Wally.” 

Yes, sir, but we can afford it.” 

‘^Everything,” said Mr. Deepdale, sadly, taking his 
son’s hand, “ has gone so smoothly with us, from a 
worldly point of view, that I am almost afraid to com- 
municate bad news to you.” 

“Eearing I might not be strong enough to bear it?” 
asked Walter, cheerfully, perceiving how much his father 
was in need of sympathy. “ Try me, dad. That is all I 
can say. Try me. You are going to confide in me; 3’ou 
are going to tell me what it is that has caused you so 
much anxiety for many weeks past. If it is bad news that 
affects me as well as yourself — ” 

“It is, Wally.” 

“ It will make it all the lighter for both to share it in 
company. It is keeping a thing secret,” said Walter, 
rumpling his hair, “ that makes trouble so much heavier 
than it really is. Now, dad, tell me what it is all about, 
so that I may take half the load from your heart. Con- 
sidering what you have done for me, how loving and ten- 
der you have been to me since my first day of remem- 
brance, I Qught to take it all, but that I know your love 


96 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


for me would not permit you to part with it all. Xow, 
dad, out with it.’’ 

‘‘In a word, Wally, without explaining first?” 

“ In a word, dad, without any explanation at all till the 
worst is told.” 

“ Wally, we are ruined.” 

Walter looked at him with a bright smile. 

“ Is that all, dad?” 

“ That is all, Wally. There is, there could be, nothing 
worse behind.” 

“ There could be, dad.” 

“I can’t imagine worse news than this which you have 
taken so lightly. My boy, you are right; even now my 
heart is not as heavy as it was.” 

“ Why, of course it is not; and it shall be lighter yet. 
You can’t imagine worse news? My own dear father, 
whom I love and honor as much as it is in my poor power 
to do, you might have told me that you were suffering 
from some incurable disease which threatened to shorten 
your days. That is the greatest grief that could befall me 
in connection with you. Euined! And that is all! I 
can’t express to you, dad, how you have relieved my 
mind.” 

His arm now was round his father’s neck, and they were 
as close together in body as they were in heart. 

“ But, Wally, perhaps you don’t quite understand. It 
is no small loss that has fallen on us. Everything is gone. 
We sit together under God’s sky — ab, my boy! what sweet 
joy and pain your caresses give me!— as poor even as Little 
Make-Believe and your dear Saranne.” 

“I understand it very well, dad, and it seems to me to 
bring us all nearer to each other. If there existed in 
Saranne’s mind any uncomfortable feeling that she and I 
were in some worldly way not on an equality — though 
such a feeling, I am bound to admit, is more likely to 
have disturbed Little Make-Believe than my own dear 
little girl — and that I was making some sort of sacrifice 
for her, the fact of our being no longer rich will help to 
dispel it and set her more at her ease. What I have to do 
is to work for us all, and I will do it. Why, it is not at 
all unlikely that this is the most fortunate thing that 
could have happened to me. Instead now of living an 
indolent, aimless life, here suddenly I find an opportunity 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


97 


forced upon me to show not only my gratitude to the 
dearest father son ever had, but to prove that tliere is 
really something in me worth the working out. Holidays! 
I have had enough of them to last me all my life. Of 
course my famous scheme of sending Saranne to school is 
blown to the winds; but what might have been done at 
school we will do a thousand times better at home. Dad, 
looking at 'you with a critical eye, I see that within these 
last few minutes you have really grown very much 
younger.” 

I am much happier, my boy, than I have been for 
some time past.” 

“ And therefore much younger. Now, dad, tell me 
how this fortunate piece of business came about.” 

It was soon told. Mr. Deepdale’s property consisted of 
shares in certain compunies, most of which paid regular 
dividends. These securities he had placed, for safety, in 
the hands of his bankers, having nothing further to do 
with them than to see by his book that the dividends were 
regularly credited to his account, and to pay occasional 
calls. Some time since the chief secretary of this bank 
suddenly disappeared, and upon an examination of his ac- 
counts and of the securities in his charge, it was discov- 
ered that he was a defaulter to the tune of nearly two 
hundred thousand pounds'. His loesses had been incurred 
through speculations on the Stock Exchange, which he 
had covered from time to time by using the securities — 
such of them as were available for the purpose — deposited 
by tbe customers of the bank. Unfortunately, every one 
of Mr. Deepdale’s bonds was available, and had been made 
iiway with. To avoid suspicion, the amount due on 
coupons and for dividends had been regularly credited to 
Mr. Deepdale’s account. Simple-minded, straightforward 
men might have reasonably supposed that the bank was 
accountable for this robbery by one of its chief officers, 
but the law had decided otherwise, and the loss had fallen 
on the shoulders of the depositors. To aggravate the mat- 
ter, Mr. Deepdale was made responsible for a large call in 
one of his companies, and to satisfy the demands made 
upon him he had been compelled to sell his house and fur- 
niture to* the last stick. And when this was done — the 
sale being effected in London while Walter was love- 
making in the country— Mr. Deepdale was left, not as he 

4 


98 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


had stated quite as- poor as Little Make-Believe and 
Saranne, but with an income of thirty pounds a year. 
Which Walter, the story being told, declared was a fine 
sum to commence a fresh start in life with. 

“ There is one thing, dad,” said he, with kindling eyes, 

you come out of this bad affair an honest and upright 
man. Thank God our honor is unsullied!” 

Late in the night Little Make-Believe and Saranne 
heard the story, and learnt how their castles in the air 
had faded away. It would be untrue to say that they 
were not disappointed, but in their grief for their tried 
friends, and in the loving tenderness exhibited toward 
them by Mr. Deepdale and Walter, no less than in the 
brave and hopeful view the young man took of this change 
in their fortunes, they found ample consolation. The in- 
terchange of affectionate sympathy and strengthening 
words converted this otherwise dark night into one of the 
liappiest they had spent during their holiday in the coun- 
try. 


THOMAS DEXTEE COMES OUT IM A MEW CHAEACTEE. 

The Christmas of that year was what is generally called 
a seasonable Christmas — that is, it was bitterly cold, and 
the snow soaked through your boots. Dealing as this 
story does with those mortals who are not as a rule in- 
clined to look at snow and ice from an artistic point of 
view— beautiful as it is pictorially and from a distance — 
and to whom a rise in the price of coals is a very serious 
matter, the term seasonable, as expressing something for 
which they should be grateful, is assuredly out of place. 
Boys, even ragged boys, extract a wild delight from frozen 
roads and ponds, but the grown-up poor, having lived 
long enough to discover that all is vanity, derive no plea- 
sure from stamping their frozen feet and blowing their 
frozen fingers. 

A hard winter indeed it was. Not only coals, but every 
article necessary to life had increased in price. There 
was a rise of a penny in the four-pound loaf, meat was 
much dearer, bacon, butter, potatoes, cheese, and leather 
had all followed suit; even the humble bundle of wood, 
though the price remained the same, had dwindled from 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


99 


its once fair proportions. Candles must not be forgot? 
twelve to the pound was a fiction. The morals of the 
London tradesmen are sadly deteriorating. 

To the persons with whom we are by this time familiar 
great changes had come. It is by no violent shock to 
probability — such as we are accustomed to witness in tlie 
modern drama — that nearly all of them found themselves 
this Christmas under one roof. That roof is Thomas 
Dexter^s, and the gathering came about some months since 
ill a perfectly natural way. The only surprising feature 
in it was supplied in the action initiated and urged by the 
old curiosity dealer. 

He had become acquainted with Dr. Deepdale’s loss of 
fortune, and simultaneously with the engagement contract- 
ed between Walter and Saranne. In the early part of this 
story reference was made to the upper portion of the house, 
on the ground floor of wdiich he carried on his business. 
The rooms above had a separate entrance through a side door 
which had no communication with his shop, and until 
now had been let to various tenants more or less to be de- 
pended upon for the payment of their rent — generally, 
less. It happened, just as Mr. Deepdale and Walter, ac- 
companied by Little Make-Believe, returned to London 
from the country, that the whole of the upper part of 
Thomas Dexter’s house wms vacant, and actuated by a 
feeling, the roots of which he did not take the trouble to 
search for, he proposed that they should become his tenants 
at a very low rental. There were a sitting and a bedroom 
for Little Make-Believe and Saranne; there were sufficient 
living rooms for Mr. Deepdale and Walter; and he sug- 
gested that the sisters should perform certain household 
liuties, for which they were to receive from him a small 
remuneration. They held a consultation among them- 
selves, and the offer was accepted; except that the locality 
was not such as Mr. Deepdale and Walter would have 
chosen, the proposed arrangement was in singular accord 
with their wishes and position. They therefore agreed to 
it; a communication was opened in the passage between 
the shop and the rooms above, and in a very little while 
they were as comfortably settled as they had, in reason, 
any right to expect. 

This remark applies only to Mr. Deepdale and Walter; 
to Little Make-Believe and Saranne the change was luxury. 


100 


L1TTJ>E MAKE-BELIEVE. 


Their rooms were better furnished than any they had ever 
occupied in London; they were among friends, and no 
longer at the mercy of bitter circumstance. They had 
not been in the house a week before Thomas Lexter, 
who declared he was no longer as young as he had 
been — a common saying which is generally uttered with 
an air of great wisdom — proposed that Little Make-Be- 
lieve should cook for him, and that he and the sisters 
should have their meals together. Little Make-Believe’s 
gratitude may be imagined. Determined as she was not 
to be a burden to Mr. Deepdale, she had contemplated 
with much inward sorrow the necessity of resuming her 
old life to obtain food for herself and Saranne. And now 
tlie road was opened to her to obtain it honestly, by the 
labor of her hands. How cheerfully she undertook it, 
how well she performed it! Thomas Dexter averred that 
never before had he known what comfort was. Little 
Make-Believe cooked also for Mr. Deepdale and Walter. 
Struggling so successfully with her own deep sorrow that 
not one of them suspected how her heart had been torn, 
she waited upon Walter as a slave might wait upon a 
beloved master. She entered lovingly and cheerfully into 
all his plans with respect to the future of himself and 
Saranne; she advised and counselled him with wisdom 
begot of her own sharp experiences of life; she soothed 
and comforted Mr. Deepdale, and softened, with won- 
drous sweetness and patience, the thorny paths he was 
now traversing; she administered with admirable foresight 
to Thomas Dexter’s wants. And one evening, when she 
accidentally overheard some reference to herself made by 
Thomas Dexter, to which Mr. Deepdale replied, Yes, 
indeed, we have an angel in the house in the person of 
Little Make-Believe,” she went to her room, and shed 
tears of patient, resigned gratitude. It was balm to her 
wounded heart to know that she was useful, and that her 
devoted service was received with loving appreciation. 

Work was also found for Saranne. At an auction he 
attended Thomas Dexter surprised everybody by bidding 
for a sewing machine, of which he became the possessor. 
The surprise was caused by the circumstance that he had 
never been known to purchase anything modern. It was 
taken home and placed in the sisters’ sitting-room; and 
Saranne, soon learning how to work it, was enabled by 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


101 


this means to earn a few shillings a week. The money 
she earned was jealously set aside and taken care of by 
Little Make-Believe. 

When you’re married/’ said she to Saranne, ^^you’ll 
want things, and we shall be able to buy ’em.” 

This consideration was an incentive to Saranne, who 
thus was taught alesson which could not but be productive 
of good results. 


Fortune, indeed, smiled upon every inmate of the house. 
Walter obtained a situation in a merchant’s office, and he 
entered into his new life with so much zest as almost to 
compel Mr. Deepdale to believe, with his son, that the pit 
into which he had been thrust by the proceedings of a 
rogue was likely to prove a blessing to them. But the 
germ of all this contentment, of all this happiness, lay in 
Little Make-Believe. It was her sweet ways that sweetened 
their days; it was her unremitting thoughtfulness and 
wise and patient labor that strewed flowers in their patli. 

Two or three times she had caught sight of Foxey, and 
he of her, and only on one occasion was she unsuccessful 
in avoiding him. Their meeting took place toward the 
end of November. 

‘‘ What do yer run away from me for?” he asked. 

'‘Because I don’t want to speak to yer,” she replied. 
"I’ll tell yer the honest truth, Foxey; I’m fi-ightened of 
yer.” 

" You’ve got no call to be; I wouldn’t hurt a hair of 
yer head. But yer know that well enough. No, it’s not 
the honest truth yer telling me.” 

" I can’t help it if yer don’t believe me. Foxey, let 
me go; I’ve got a lot to do at home.” 

"At home!” he echoed. "That’s at old Tommy 
Dexter’s.” 

"Yes.” 

"Where yer fine gentleman’s living. Oh, I know ail 
about it! Don’t think yer can hide anythink from me. 
Yer went into the country with him; I tried hard to find 
out where yer’d gone to, but no one could tell me except 
Tommy Dexter, and he wouldn’t. If I had fouitd out 
you’d have seen me there. When I went hopping I looked 
about for yer, but never caught sight of yer. And now 
you’ve came back a fine lady. Oh, how ^rand we are! 
Yer never had sech clothes as these on afore. Yer a 


102 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


regular swell, Make-Believe,” he said, with bitter em- 
phasis. “ When are yer going to set up yer kerridge?” 

Yer a false, wicked wretch!” said Little Make-Believe, 
with looks of fire. not a swell or a fine lady: I’m a 

poor girl, and yer ought to be ashamed of yerself for say- 
ing sech things about me. If 1 was a man 1 wouldn’t be 
jealous of a girl who never did me no harm, because she’s 
been lucky enough to find some-friends who are good to 
her; and who, because of their goodness, has a better pair 
of boots to her feet and a better frock to her back than 
she ever had afore! I should say, ‘ Good luck to yer; I’m 
glad to see yer getting on.’ But yer’re too mean for that; 
I never would have believed it of yer, never! I thought 
you had a man’s heart in yer. There, let me go: and if 
yer don’t like my speaking my mind to yer, yer can lump 
it! Hate me as much as yer like, I don’t care a bit.” 

I shall never hate yer, Make-Believe; I shall love yer 
as long as I live, whether yer’ve got a silk dress on or not 
a rag to yer back. Do yer hear me? I’m going on lov- 
ing yer every blessed day of my life, and yer can’t stop me! 
I give yer fair warning, Make-Believe: don’t drive me too 
hard, or both on us ’ll live to repent it.” 

At this point she managed to get away from him, and 
from that time till now had caught only a transient glance 
of him once or twice. 

It wanted a week to Christmas, and the snow was fall- 
ing. Thomas Dexter’s shop was shut, and he and the 
Deepdales, with Little Make Believe and Saranne, were 
assembled in Mr. Deepdale’s sitting-room, the appearance 
of which would have surprised even the oldest resident in 
Clare Market, it was furnished with so much taste. Tliis 
was due not to one, but to all, the chief contributor being 
Thomas Dexter, who had been a large buyer at the iiublic 
auction of Mr. Deepdale’s furniture and treasures. Many 
of these had found their way into Mr. Deepdale’s apart- 
ment, and although they were no longer his property, he 
derived a pleasure from seeing them around him. It had 
grown into a custom with them to find themselves its- 
sernbled in Mr, Deepdale’s apartment, during the winter, 
four or five nights in every week, and the pleasant hohrs 
they spent there together had become to be eagerly antic- 
ipated by old and young. 

On this night the conversation had been chiefiy sus- 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


103 


tained by Thomas Dexter, who related how he had first 
become acquainted with Little Make-Believe and Saranne, 
and, encouraged by his auditors, recalled the. singular 
dream he had had during his illness. Mr. Deepdale and 
Walter had heard this dream before, but it was quite new 
to Little iVIake- Believe and Saranne. In his description 
of the birds and the strange figure who had, as it were, 
created them by flinging the farthings in the air, Thomas 
Dexter was quite graphic; and although the narration 
placed him in an unfavorable light, he did not spare him- 
self. 

‘‘Perhaps,” he said, “it was out-and-out the strangest 
dream a man ever had. It was about this time of the 
year. I remember the winter well; it was just such an- 
other as the one we are having now.” 

“ !fes,” said Walter, “ Christmas is coming quickly 
upon us; it will be here almost before we have time to 
turn round.” 

Of all those who had listened to the description of the 
dream Little Make-Believe was perhaps the most interest- 
ed. It had set her sympathetic nature in a glow. 

“ How I wish I had a lot of money!” she said. 

“To give to Saranne, I suppose,” said Walter. 

“ Not at all,” she replied, “ Pel like to spend a little of 
it another way.” 

“ In what way, Make-Believe?” 

“ Pd make the dream come true. Not the birds — that 
couldn’t be. But Pd give a large party, and make a lot of 
poor little children happy. Christmas is the proper time, 
ain’t it?” 

“Always is the proper time, said Mr. Deepdale, “but 
Christmas especially. If we were as well off as Ve were 
once upon a time, Wally, our little Make-Believe should 
have her wish.” 

“I know I should, sir,” said Little Make-Believe. 
“ Yer wouldn’t want arsking' twice.” 

“It is a great reproach to a man,” observed Mr. Deep- 
dale, “when he looks back and sees what opportunities 
he has missed of doing good.” 

Thomas Dexter said nothing, but the next day he called 
Little Make-Believe to him. 

“Would yer like to do it, Make-Believe?” he asked. 

“ Would I like to do what, Mr. Dexter?” 


104 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


‘‘Whafcyou spoke of last night. Give a large i)arly, 
and make a lot of poor children happy?'*’ 

Indeed I would, Mr. Dexter, but it’s no use wishing.” 

‘‘ How much would it cost?” 

Oh, a lot. Two or three pound, I dessay.” 

“Do you remember what happened the night I came to 
see you when you received Mr. Deepdale’s letter, asking 
you to go into the country?” 

“ I shall never forget it, Mr. Dexter. It wasn’t the 
only good thing that happened to me through yOu.” 

“ Nor the last, I hope. Yer eyes were shut then, Make- 
Believe.” 

“I couldn’t help it, Mr. Dexter; I was crying, and I 
didn’t want yer to see me. And, oh, when I opened ’em, 
and you was gone, and Dsaw the two sovereigns laying on 
Gie table, I could have dancad the whole night long for 

joy’” 

“Not for yer own sake, MakO'Believe; but for Sar- 
unno’s.” 

“AVell, Mr. Dexter, yes; but I was glad for my own 
sake, too.” 

“And now. Little Make-Believe, still not for yer own 
sake, but for some poor children’s.” 

“I should be as happy as them, Mr. Dexter.” 

“ I believe you would. That was a good bit of pretend- 
ing of mine.” ^ 

“That it was, Mr. Dexter. I told Saranne that /could 
never pretend half or quarter as well. 

“ Shut yer eyes now, Make-Believe, to please me.” 

To please him she shut her eyes, and when she opened them 
in the silence that followed Thomas Dexter was gone, and 
on the table lay a brand new five-pound note. She under- 
stood it at once; it was for her Christmas party to make 
some poor children happy. She walked slowly into the 
shop, where she found him so busy looking over his stock 
that he hardly had time to attend to her — a pretense, to 
avoid her thanks. But she did thank him, in a few sim- 
ple words, from the bottom of her heart, and for the sec- 
ond time in her life she kissed him for his goodness. 

“It’s a five- pound note well laid out,” he thought, as 
she left him. 

Mr. Deepdale and AValter and Saranne entered heartily 
into Little Make-Believe’s scheme. It was decided that 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


105 


tlie Christmas treat sliould be given in the house, and in 
a quiet way they went about the courts and lanes select- 
ing and inviting the children. Their choice lay principal- 
ly among those who were motherless or fatherless, or both, 
and among the most physically helpless. It is doubt- 
ful whether there was more pleasure or pain in this 
task of selection, for many wistful ones had to be 
passed over. Even as it was, when Christmas Day 
arrived, they found they had invited almost more than 
the house would hold. But room was made for all. 
To Thomas DexteEs five-pound note Walter had secretly 
added something, and Mr. Deepdale had secretly added 
something, and Saranne had also secretly contributed 
something from her savings; so that Little Make-Believe 
was quite rich;' but it needed careful management, never- 
theless, to make both ends meet. For two or three days 
before Christmas she was the busiest of the busy. She 
called in the services of a steady woman, and between 
them they made plum puddings and mince pies, and 
I’oasted great joints of beef, till they were tired out with 
fatigue. Saranne and AValter, and even Thomas Dexter 
and Mr. Deepdale assisted in the decoration of the room 
in which the party was to be held, and what with holly 
and mistletoe and flags of all nations the house was 
turned topsy-turvy. Some of their preparations were 
kept from Little Make-Believe’s knowledge, and when she 
expressed herself curious about them she received the 
merry answer, You mind your business, and we’ll mind 
ours.” 

Undoubtedly it was the event of the season. Such a 
gathering had never before been seen. In the richest 
homes in the country, in the coziest country houses in 
England’s green lanes, at whose doors the poor man’s wolf 
had never appeared, Christmas was not more truly Christ- 
mas than in Thomas Dexter’s old house in the heart of 
Clare Market. Altogether there Avere present fifty-two 
children, one for every week in the year. Some Avere 
lame, some were hump-backed, four Avere blind; and all 
were ragged. Not one o£ them had ever enjoyed such a 
dinner as that they sat down to eat at four o’clock in the 
afternoon; and the way they tucked into it--to adopt 
their own vernacular — Avas a caution. The Avaiters Avere 
Walter, Mr. Deepdale, Saranne, and Thomas Dexter, who 


106 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


received their orders from Little Make-Believe, who flew 
heaven knows how many times — it must have been thou- 
sands — down-stairs to the kitchen and up-stairs to the 
banqueting hall for all the world as though her legs had 
taken a holiday and sent a pair of wings to do their duty. 
-The colored Christmas candles, which were fixed in every 
safe and convenient spot, the flags, the holly and mistletoe, 
to say nothing of the good cheer which warmed the chil- 
dren’s miserable little bodies, converted this room on the 
first floor into a very palace of enchantment. Then when 
dinner was cleared away there were games; then there was 
a huge Christmas tree; then marched in a fiddle and a 
harp — with mortal bodies attached to them of course, 
though the red-nosed man who played the fiddle and the 
moon-faced man who played the harp might really have 
been regarded as superfluities, for on such a night the 
harp and the fiddle would certainly have played of them- 
selves if they had been allowed. Then there was 
dancing! Such dancing! It required to be seen to be 
believed, and even then the observer might reasonably 
have doubted the evidence of his senses. The wild steps, 
the eccentric steps, the jig steps, the double shuffle steps, 
the solemn way in which some went round and round and 
did nothing else all the time the music played, and some- 
times when it didn’t, the ecstatic way in which some kept 
their eyes fixed upon the ceiling, the extraordinary way in 
which they got mixed and the extraordinary efforts which 
had to be made to disentangle them, the airs that some 
gave themselves in imitation of their betters — truly it 
had to be seen to be believed. Then there were tea and 
cake, then there was more dancing, then there were 
lemonade and more cake, then there was a distribution of 
toys — and then it was ten o’clock at night and time to 
break up. But before they broke up there was a surprise. 
At one end of the room there was a row of candles which 
had not been lighted all the night, and behind this row 
of candles was a long strip of green calico stretching 
downward about a foot from the ceiling. AV alter and 
Thomas Lexter, standing on chairs, lighted the candles, 
and dexterously whisked away the strip of green calico, 
and there, in letters cut out of golden paper, was revealed 
the legend, ‘‘ God Bless our Dear Little Make-Be- 
lieve.” 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


107 


She trembled all over when she saw it, and covered her 
face with her hands, but she could not hide her emotion, 
for her full heart forced the tears through her fingers. And 
when Mr.Deepdale went up to her and kissed her, and when 
Thomas Dexter did the same, and when Walter kissed 
her and held her hand in his, and when Saranne threw 
her arms round the faithful giiTs neck and sobbed on her 
shoulder, and when the children — very few of, whom 
could read, but all of whom knew that she was the one 
whom they had chiefly to thank foi*the happy night they 
had spent — clung to her frock, and looked wistfully 
up into her tear-stained face, and pulled her down 
to her knees so that they might embrace her, too — 
it needed all her self-control to prevent her passion of 
thankfulness from becoming hysterical. But she knew 
that that would spoil all, and that some of the children 
might suppose her heart was filled with pain instead of 
joy; so, thinking — as she had ever done — of others, and 
not of herself, she looked round, her lips quivering with 
smiles, and kissed this one and that one, murmuring as 
she did so. 

Oh, how good you are to me! How good you are to 

mer 


FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT. 

It was past midnight, and Thomas Dexter and Little 
Make-Believe were sitting up alone. Walter and his 
father and Saranne had gone to bed, and Little Make- 
Believe would have accompanied her sister had it not been 
that it was necessary to do certain work in the way of 
clearing up, so as to prevent disorder on the following day. 
This work being done. Little Make-Believe was about to 
wish Thomas Dexter good-night when he asked her to sit 
up with him for a few minutes. 

Fve got a strange feeling on me to-night,” he said, 
"" and I don’t seem as if I want to go to bed for awhile. 
Let’s set up and talk a bit.” 

She cheerfully complied, and they sat together talking 
of the events of the happy night, and then drifted into 
recalling reminiscences of th§ past. The old man had 
been much moved by the children, and more so by Little 


108 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


Make-Believe’s sweetness. He related to her the principal 
events of his life, and she was surprised to learn that he 
had been married; she had never heard it. 

‘‘^It was afore you was born,” he said. ‘‘If it happened 
that I’d become a father, my child would have been two 
or three years older than you. It was a lucky thing for 
all of us, perhaps, that my wife didn’t have a baby. Shall 
we make a bargain, Make-Believe, you and me?” 

“ I am willing to do anythink yer want, Mr. Dexter.” 

“In the course of nater,” he said, “I can’t expect to 
live many more years; I’m near upon seventy now, but, 
old as I am, it seems to me that I’m only just beginning 
to learn things. You’ve been a great comfort to me, Make- 
Believe; I don’t know now how I should get along with- 
out yer. Will yer look upon me as yer father; and let me 
take you as my daughter? Then I shall be sure of jer, 
Yer don’t answer me, Make-Believe. Is there anything 
wrong in what I’ve said?” 

“ No, sir; it’s more than kind of yer, and I’d say yes 
at once if it wasn’t for Saranne. When she’s married to 
Walter I don’t think she’d care for me to live away from 
her; and if she’s willing, and if Walter’s willing, that I 
should stop wiWi them, I wouldn’t leave them for the 
world.” 

“ You mean*that they’d want a better place than this 
to live in.” 

“ Yes, I think they’d be sure to.” 

“ Well, then, what I would have to do would be to give 
up m.y shop, and ask them to find room for me; then I 
shouldn’t lose yer,” 

“ If that could be arranged, sir. I’ll consent, sir, most 
willingly. After all you’ve done for me, it ’ud be ungrate- 
ful to refuse; and it ’ud be a pleasure to wait on yer. Is 
that the wind, or is it somebody knocking at the street 
door?” 

“ It’s the wind; there’s a big storm coming.” 

He walked to the window, and drew the . blind aside. 
The storm was not coming; it had come. It was snow- 
ing furiously. 

“I’m sure, Mr. Dexter,” said Little Make-Believe, 
listening intently, “ that^ somebody’s knocking at the 
street door.” 

He listened, and the wind happening to lull just at that 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


109 


moment, they both heard a violent rapping at the door 
below. 

‘‘■ril go and see who it is. It’s a strange time fora 
visitor.” 

He took a candle and went to the door, followed by 
Little Make-Believe. He did not draw the bolts, but 
called out: 

** Who’s there?” 

I want Mr. Dexter,” answered a voice without. 

I’m Mr. Dexter; what do you want of me?” 

I must speak to you at once. Let mein.” 

“ Hot likely, at this time of night. What’s yer busi- 
ness?” 

Business of life and death. Your wife’s dying, and 
you must come to her at once.” 

^‘My wife! Dying!” gasped Thomas Dexter, and he 
drew the bolts. 

As he opened the door the wind rushed in fiercely and 
almost blew him ofl[ his feet. The man entered quickly, 
and shut the door behind him. His story was soon told. 
Polly Cleaver lay dying two miles away, and had a secret 
to tell her husband which it was more than his soul was ^ 
worth not to hear. 

The doctor says she hasn’t two hours to live,” said 
the man. 

‘‘I will come with yer,” said Thomas Dexter; his face 
was white and his limbs were trembling. Make-Believe, 
will yer stop up for me till I come back?” 

“ Yes, Mr. Dexter,” she replied. ‘‘ Go — go, this very 
minute !” 

She assisted him with his overcoat, and handed him his 
hat. 

Don’t let them know upstairs,” he said, and then he 
went into the storm with the messenger. 

Little Make-Believe did not bolt the door. He took the 
key, and locked it outside. Listening for a few moments 
for the sound of their footsteps, which it was impossible 
for her to hear amidst the howling of the wind, even if 
the pavements had been hard and firm instead of being 
covered an inch thick with snow, she returned to the room 
above, and thought over what had passed. It wa^ all so 
confusing that she could scarcely understand it; only one 
feeling was clear to lier— pity for the dying woman and 


110 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


for the man V'ho was on his way to her death-bed. To die 
upon Christmas night, after being parted ail these years! 
It was dreadful — dreadful! She crept softly to her sister’s 
room; Saranne was sound asleep. She listened outside 
the bedroom of Mr. Deepdale and Walter; their regular 
breathing came to her ears; they had not been disturbed. 
Then she returned again to the sitting-room. A secret 
which it was worth more than his soul was worth not to 
hear! What could it be? How white his face was as he 
went out! What an ending to their happy night! She 
hoped it was nothing bad — nothing that would hurt him. 
What was that? Only the clock striking. One o’clock. 

He’ll be a long time gone,” she thought; I’ll try and 
read a bit.” But she could not hx her attention on the 
book, though it was full of pictures. How the storm was 
raging without! She hoped Thomas Dexter would get 
there safely, and in time to hear what his dying wife had 
to say to him. She rose and walked softly about the 
joom; drew the curtain from the window, and looked out. 
The falling of the snow was like a silent voice, but there 
was nothing peaceful in it. The white flakes were whirled 
hither and thither by the cruel wind. A black figure waa 
passing on the opposite side of the road; a black figure, 
huddled up, with its arms tightly folded. It was a woman, 
and there seemed to be something despairing in her mo- 
tions. ‘‘ Poor thing! poor thing!” thought, or rather 
spoke. Little Make-Believe, her sympathy for human 
suffering was so keen. Perhaps she ain’t got a home to 
go to, or a bed to lay on. Poor thing! poor thing! Dear 
God, take pity on her!” Her eyes were suffused with tears 
as she reflected that, but for such kind friends as she had, 
she might have been like that poor woman. “ Dear God, 
dear God, take pity on her!” she murmured again and 
again. Long after the black figure was out of sight she 
stood at the Avindow, mentally following and sorrowing for 
it. The clock struck again. Half -past one. She let the 
blind fall, and sat at the table, with the open book before 
her. 

Why was it that as she sat, with her head resting on 
her hand, the love for her sister’s lover, which she had 
striven ^so hard to kill, should once more rise within her 
to torture her? She would not permit it — no, she would 
not think of him in that way. It was a sin against love 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


Ill 


itself — it was a sin against God! She shook her head 
angrily, and her eyes wandered round the room as if seek- 
ing for strength to conquer this enemy. Presently she 
sank on her knees, and with her face buried in her hands 
on a chair, prayed with all the might of her bruised and 
innocent heart to be forgiven for the sin. And prayer 
brought comfort to her. Gradually she became more com- 
posed, and closed her eyes, not intending to sleep; but the 
fatigue of the day, and of many previous days, told on her, 
and with a prayer in her mind she fell asleep. 

The striking of the clock, as it struck two, then half- 
past, did not awake her. What was it, then, that seemed 
to stop the beating of her heart and at the same time 
aroused her to consciousness? There was something 
moving in the house! Where did the sound come from? 
Prom the sleeping- rooms of Saranne or Mr. Deepdale? 
No; the sound proceeded from below. Could it be that 
while she slept Thomas Dexter had returned! If so, what 
motive had he in creeihng up the stairs so slowly and cau- 
tiously, as though he was a thief? Nearer, nearer, came 
the sound of muffled footsteps! Terror transfixed her; 
she could not move; she tried to call out, but her voice 
stuck in her throat. Nearer, nearer it came; the creeping 
mystery was in the passage outside! Its hand was on thu 
handle of the door, which slowly, slowly opened, and the 
Horror stood before her! It was in the form of a man, 
with black crape over his face. He saw her, and glided 
swiftly to her side and grasped her shoulder as she knelt. 

Don’t move! Don’t stir! Don’t raise your voice!” 

And then she knew that this midnight thief was 
Poxey. 

With this knowledge her courage returned, her voice 
was restored. 

Por God’s sake what brings you here?” 

You,” he answered, drawing the crape from his face; 

but I didn’t think to find yer up.” 

She thrust liis hand from her shoulder, and rose to her 
feet, but spoke, as he spoke, in a whisper, 

‘‘ And now that yer have found me up, kill me, and 
go!” 

She held her arms outstretched, and waited for the 
blow. 

No,” he said, slowly, ^Mt ain’t you I’ve come to kill. 


112 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


but ril have the life of two afore I go. Arter that I don’t 
care what becomes of me.” 

What two? Do you hear? What two? You wicked, 
monster! What two? Are yer too much of a coward to 
answer me?” 

‘‘ Call me what yer like; it don’t matter. I love yer. 
Make-Believe, and no man shall have yer but me. What 
two? Yer two lovers. I’ll kill ’em, and swing for it!” 

My two lovers!” ^ 

Yes, yer two lovers — old Dexter and Young Walter 
Deepdale.” 

Then she knew that she was safe, and that she held 
him in her power. 

My lovers! Mine! Mr. Dexter’s got a wife living — 
no, not living — dying as we stand here, and he’s gone to 
see her on this blessed Christmas night, for the last time! 
He arksed me to be his daughter not two hours ago, and 
he’s got no feeling for me that a father mightn’t have for 
his child. 0, Foxey, Foxey, that you should think mo 
so bad and so mean as to take up with a man who’s got 
one foot in the grave!” 

‘‘ I believe yer; I’ll let him pass. But the other oiie — , 
Walter Deepdale; yer can’t say as much for him. 

I can say more for him. He’s my sister’s lover, and 
they’re going to get married. Look me in th® face, and 
see for yerself if I’m telling lies.” 

He gazed at her steadily; he saw the truth in her eyes.. 

And he don’t love yer, Make-Believe?” 

'^Ho more than a brother ought to love a sister. Yes, 
he loves me as much as that, I think, but not a bit more, 
as I’m a living wmman!” 

And yer don’t love him?” 

^‘JSTo,” she replied firmly; she knew that if she allowed 
her voice to falter, blood would be shed in the house that 
night. 

“ Swear it,” he said. ^^Say, ^God strike me dead if I 
love him!”’ 

She repeated his words. 

“ God strike me dead if I love him!” 

False as was the oath. Divine forgiveness was registered 
in its utterance. 

“ Make-Believe,” he said, and his voice, before so fierce, 
grew weak, “you’ve saved me from becoming a murderer!” 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


iia 

Yer didn’t come yer to steal as well?” she asked. 

‘‘No,” he replied, “I’m no thief now. I’ve kept the 
promise I give yer to lead a honest life. It’s been hard, 
lines. Look here;” and he turned o\it his pockets, which 
did not contain a copper; “and my Christmas dinner was 
a hunk of bread and cheese. Who’s that unlocking the 
street door?” 

“It’s Mr. Dexter. He mustn’t see yer! Hide behind 
that table. Quick, quick! When he’s gone to bed I’ll 
let you out of the house.” 

He threw himself behind the table, and she drew the 
cloth down so that he was concealed from sight. Then 
she ran to the door and called, 

• “Is that you, Mr. Dexter?” 

“ Yes, Make-Believe,” he replied, as he ascended the 
stairs, “it’s me.” 

When he entered the room she saw that he had brought 
back with him a heavy load of grief. 

“ My wife is dead,” he said. 

She took his hand, and he drew her to him, deriving 
comfort from the contact. 

“Did she die afore you got there, sir?” 

“No, she lived long enough to tell me her secret. It 
is that — it is that — Make-Believe, which has converted 
this night into a night of sorrow. Before we were two 
months married she left me, as I have told you: and 
neither I nor the bad man for whom she deserted me knew 
that in the lawful course of nater she gave birth to a son 
— my son ! It happened that the man who occupied my 
place got into some trouble, and had to undergo imprison- 
ment for three months. During his impi'isonment her 
child was born, and she concealed it from him out of fear, 
and from me out of spite. I am almost afraid to tell you 
the name of my son.” 

“ Don’t be afraid, -sir — tell me.” 

“ It is a man I warned yer aginst, and who you Know 
well.” 

(She gazed at him in amazement. “ Not Foxey, sir?” 

“ Yes, Foxey, to whom my wife, who is no more, gave 
that name out of some kind of strange mMice. God 
knows I did her no harm! Marrying her was a folly, not 
a crime, and I haven’t deserved to be so punished.” 

A star of light and hope glowed in the lieart of Little 


114 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


Make-Believe — a Christmas Star of charity and love, shin- 
ing on the promise of a life snatched from evil ways, from 
crime, from prison walls, from sinful death! Her voice 
grew solemn, 

‘‘ You should be glad, sir, not sorry, that you have 
found your son.” 

‘‘ How can I be glad, Make-Believe? If he was a man 
I could be proud of, that I could take to my heart ” — his 
voice was choking; he could not prpceed. 

You mustn’t forget, sir,” said Little Make-Believe, 
tenderly, that this is a day of charity and forgiveness. 
There’s none of us so bad that we can’t be made good if 
a loving hand is held out to us! We can’t help the way 
we’re born, can we, sir?” 

^‘No, Make-Believe, no.” 

It ain’t our own fault sometimes that we grow up 
bad. I don’t see how some poor creatures can help it. 
And let me tell yer, sir, Foxey ain’t what yer think he is. 
There’s a lot of good in him that you’d never suspect if 
yer wasn’t told. You get him to give yer a promise, and 
he’ll keep it if starvation stares him in the face.” 

You’re saying this, Make-Believe, to try and comfort 
me. Dear child! If everyone had a heart like your’n it 
would be a better world than it is.” 

I don’t know so much about that, sir. But it ain’t 
of me we’re speaking, it’s of yer son as’ll live to be a bless- 
ing to yer. Why, sir, jest think, now, when we first knew 
him he wasn’t so vei-y old, was he?” 

“ No, he was only a bit of a boy.” 

“As’d never been taught nothink good. As had no 
father — and no mother to speak of. But she’s dead and 
gone, and we mustn’t say nothink hard of her. She’s gone 
to a better world, where we all hope to go to one day. 
Her life wasn’t a rosy one, sir — fur from it! When you 
was out I saw a poor woman dragging her feet through 
the snow, and though I never saw her before as I knows 
on, and shall never see her agin, I couldn’t help crying at 
the sight of her. Mr. Dexter, I don’t think as ever ii^my 
life I saw as much of the inside of things as I do now. 
It’s come upon me all in a minute, and I believe as God 
has put it into my head!” 

** Dear Little Make-Believe!” 

Ah, sir, if it hadn’t been for that — if it hadn’t been 


LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 


115 


for my make-believing — I don’t know where I should have 
been! I was saying, Mr. Dexter, that there’s a lot of good 
in Foxey. He give me a promise once that he’d live a 
honest life ” 

‘^And broke it.” 

‘‘And kep it, sir, as true as true can be! Yes, though 
he was that hard up sometimes that he had nothink but 
bread to eat, he kep bis promise, and from that day to 
this hasn’t done nothink wrong.” 

“Make-Believe! Make-Believe!” 

“ It’s gospel truth, sir. A man as’ll do that only wants 
a chance of doing better. Yer’ll give yer son that 
chance, won’t yer, sir?” 

“As sure as you’re the best woman that treads the 
eartl), Make-Believe, I’ll give it him if he’ll take it.” 

“Never mind about me. Will yer believe me when I 
tell yer yer can give him the chance this very night — this 
night of death and joy?” 

“I’ll believe anything you tell me, Make-Believe.” 

“ And yer won’t be angry at somethink I’ve already 
done?” 

“ I can’t be angry at anything you’ve done.” 

“Why see, sir, how it’s all turned out! I believe 
there’s been angels watching over us. Not ten minutes 
afore you come home I saw a man leaning against the wall 
on^the other side of the way, looking up at the windows 
in til is room. I looked hard at him, and who should I 
find it was but Foxey.” 

“ My son! Where is he?” 

“I couldn’t help thinking — knowing as he’d give me a 
promise to be honest and ’ddie rather than break it — that 
he was wandering about this Christmas night ’cause he 
hadn’t got a roof to shelter ’him. A bitter night outside, 
sir!’^ 

“A terrible night! Goon.” 

“ I went down to the street door, being full of pity for 
him, and knowing as he was the sort of man no girl as 
knew him as I know him need be afraid of, I called out 
to him.” 

“Make-Believe!” 

“ He come over to me, and I found out that I was 
right. He hadn’t a roof of his own, he hadn’t a bed of 
bis own, his Christmas dinner was a bit of bread and 


116 LITTLE MAKE-BELIEVE. 

cheese. Think of the dinner we had, Mr. Dexter! He 
hadn’t a penny in his pocket. And all, sir, because he’d 
kep the promise he give me to lead a honest life. I 
brought him into the house, sir.” 

‘^Ishe here now, Make-Believe?” cried Thomas Dex- 
ter. ‘‘Tell me, quick!” 

“ Wait a minute, sir. We had some talk together, him 
and me, and he told me how hard it was for him to get 
along in this country, and how if some kind friend ’d 
only come for’ard and help him to emigrate to the colo- 
nies he’d make a good name for hisself in less than three 
years. It was his only chance, he said. Then you come 
in, sir, and interrupted us while we was talking. Don’t 
turn yer head! Shut yer eyes, to please me— as I shut 
mine to please you.” 

She placed her hand over his eyes, and beckoned to 
Foxey. He rose and came forward, with the tears stream- 
ing down his cheeks. 

Then Little Make-Believe took her hand away, and 
father and son were face to face! 

She did not give them time to utter a word in her pres- 
ence. 

“I’m very tired, sir; I must go to bed.” 

“ Good-night, dear child.” 

“ Good-night, sir. Good-night, Foxey.” 

“ Good-night, Make-Believe.” 

He stepped to the door and opened it for her. 

“I’ll keep my promise, Make-Believe. 

She held out her hand, and he clasped it passionately 
for a moment, and kissed it. Then she gave him a bright 
smile, and left father and son together. 

* ♦ ♦ » * sj< 

Half-an-hour afterward Saranne, waking up, saw Little 
Make Believe kneeling by the bedside. 

“Why, Make-Believe, haven’t you come to bed, yet?” 

“ No, dear, there was sech a lot of clearing away'to do. 
But I am tired now!” 

“Are you very, very happy, Make-Believe?” 

“Yes Saranne, ain’t I got good cause to be?* Go to 
sleep, dear, and dream of Walter!” 


THE END. 


rhe Seaside Library. 


ORl>lNAR¥ ERlTIOrV. 


GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 

r. O. Box 3751. 17 to JJ7 Vandewater Street* New York. 


The following works contained in The Seaside Library, Ordinary Edition, 
<i,re for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, ox 
Ceceipt of 12 cents for single numbers, and 25 cents for double numbers, by the 


^o. mbs. ALEXANDER’S WORKS. 

30 Her Dearest Foe 20 

36 The Wooing O’t 20 

46 The Heritage of Langdale 20 

370 Ralph Wilton’s Wei»d 10 

400 Which Shall it Be? 20 

632 Maid, Wife, or Widow?. • 10 

1231 The Freres 20 

1259 Valerie’s Fate 10 

1391 Look Before You Leap 20 

1502 The Australian Aunt 10 

1595 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

WILLIAM BLACK’S WORKS. 

13 A Princess of Thule 20 

28 A Daughter of Heth 10 

47 In Silk Attire 10 

48 The Strange Adventures of a- Phaeton 10 

61 Kilmeny 10 

63 The Monarch of Mincing Lane 10 

79 Madcap Violet (small type) 10 

604 Madcap Violet (large type) 20 

242 The Three Feathers 16 

390 The Marriage of Moira Fergus, and The Maid of Ellleena. 10 

417 Macleod of Dare 20 

451 Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart 10 

668 Green Pastures and Piccadilly 10 

816 White Wings: A Yachting Romance 10 

826 Oliver Goldsmith 10 

950 Sunrise: A Story of These Times 20 

1025 The Pupil of Aurelius 10 

1032 That Beautiful Wretch 10 

1161 The Four MacNicols 10 

1264 Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P., in the Highlands 10 

1429 An Adventure in Thule. A Story for Young People. .... 10 

1556 Shandon Bells 20 

•^683 Yolande...... 20 


n THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Edition. 


CHAELOTTE, EMILY, AND ANNE BEONTE’S WOEKS. 

3 Jane Eyre (in small type) 10 

396 Jane Eyre (in bold, handsome type) 20 

162 Shirley 20 

311 The Professor 10 

329 Wuthering Heights 10 

438 Villette 20 

967 The Tenant of Wildfell Hall 20 

1098 Agnes Grey 20 

MISS M. E. BEADDON’S WOEKS. 

26 Aurora Floyd 20 

69 To the Bitter End 20 

89 The Levels of Arden 20 

95 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

109 Eleanor’s Victory 20 

114 Darrell Markham. 10 

140 The Lady Lisle 10 

171 Hostages to Fortune • 20 

190 Henry Dunbar 20 

215 Birds of Prey 20 

235 An Open Verdict 20 

251 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

254 The Octoroon 10 

260 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

287 Leighton Grange • 10 

295 Lost for Love 20 

322 Dead-Sea Fruit 20 

459 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

469 Kupert Godwin 20 

481 Vixen 20 

'482 The Cloven Foot 20 

500 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20j9 

519 Weavers and Weft 10 

525 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

539 A Strange World : 20 

550 Fenton’s Quest 20 

562 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

572 The Lady’s Mile 20 

579 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

581 Only a Woman (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

619 Taken at the Flood 20 

641 Only a Clod 20 

649 Publicans and Sinners 20 

656 George Caulfield’s Journey 10 

665 The Shadow in the Corner 10 

666 Bound to John Company; or, Robert Ainsleigh .. . . t. . . . 20 

701 Barbara; or, Splendid Misery 20 

705 Put to the Test (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part I 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part II 80 


THE SEASIDE LIBIlABT.-^Ordinary Edition, n! 


MISS M. E. BRADDON’S WORKS.— Continued. 

811 Dudley Carleon 1C 

828 The Fatal Marriage 10 

837 Just as I Am; or, A Living Lie 20 

942 Asphodel 20 

1154 The Misletoe Bough 20 

1265 Mount Royal 20 

1469 Flower and Weed 10 

1553 The Golden Calf 20 

1638 Married in Haste (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

RHODA BROUGHTON’S WORKS. 

186 “Good-Bye, Sweetheart” 10 

269 Red as a Rose is She 20 

285 Cometh Up as a Flower 10 

402 “Not Wisely, But Too Well” 20 

458 Nancy 20 

626 Joan 20 

762 Second Thoughts 20 

WILKIE COLLINS’ WORKS. 

10 The Woman in White 20 

14 The Dead Secret 20 

22 Man and Wife 20 

32 The Queen of Hearts 20 

38 Antonina ; 20 

42 Hide-and-Seek 20 

76 The New Magdalen 10 

94 The Law and The Lady 20 

180 Armadale 20 

191 My Lady’s Money 10 

225 The Two Destinies 10 

250 No Name 20 

286 After Dark 10 

409 The Haunted Hotel 10 

433 A Shocking Story 10 

487 A Rogue’s Life 10 

551 The Yellow Mask. 10 

683 Fallen Leaves 20 

654 Poor Miss Finch 20 

675 The Moonstone 20 

696 Jezebel’s Daughter 20 

713 The Captain’s Last Love ... 10 

721 Basil 20 

745 The Magic Spectacles 10 

905 Duel in "Herne Wood 10 

928 Who Killed Zebedee? 10 

971 The Frozen Deep 10 

990 The Black Robe ^ . 20 

1164 Your Money or Your Life s , . 10 

1544 Heart and Science. A Story of the Present Time. . . • . , . 


THE SEASIDE LIBB. ART. —Ordinary Edition. 


J. FENIMOKE COOPER’S WORKS. 


222 Last of the Mohicans -C 

224 The Deerslayer • 2^ 

226 The Pathfinder 20 

229 The pioneers 20 

231 The Prairie 20 

233 The Pilot 20 

585 The Water- Witch 20 

590 The Two Admirals 20 

615 The Red Rover 20 

761 Wing and- Wing 20 

940 The Spy,... 20 

1066 The W 3 ’^andotte 20 

1257 Afloat and Ashore 20 

1262 Miles Wallingford (Sequel to “Afloat and Ashore”) 20 

1569 The Headsman; or, The Abbaye des Vignerons 20 

1605 The Monikins 20 

1661 The Heidenmauer; or, The Benedictines. A Legend of 

the Rliine 20 

X691 The Crater; or, Vulcan’s Peak. A Tale of the Pacific 20 

CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

20 The Old Curiosity Shop 20 

100 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

102 Hard Times 10 

118 Great Expectations 20 

187 David Copperfield 20 

200 Nicholas Nickleby 20 

213 Barnaby Rudge 20 

218 Domhey and Son 20 

239 No Thoroughfare (Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins) .... 10 

247 Martin Chuzzlewit 20 

272 The Cricket on the Hearth 10 

284 Oliver Twist 20 

289 A Christmas Carol 10 

297 The Haunted Man 10 

304 Little Dorrit 20 

308 The Chimes 10 

317 The Battle of Life 10 

325 Our Mutual Friend 20 

337 Bleak House 20 

852 Pickwick Papers 20 

359 Somebody’s Luggage 10 

367 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings 10 

872 Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices 10 

375 Mugby Junction.. 10 

403 Tom Tiddler’s Ground 10 

498 The Uncommercial Traveler 20 

521 Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

S25 Sketches by Boz 20 

639 Sketches of Young Couples 10 

S27 The Mudfog Papers, &c ' 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Ordinary Edition. 




CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS.-CoMtinued. 


860 The Mystery of Edwin Drood 26 

900 Pictures From Italy 10 

1411 A Child’s History of England 2G 

1464 The Picnic Papers 20 

1558 Three Detective Anecdotes, and Other Sketches 10 


1682 The Plays and Poems of Charles Dickens, with a few Miscel- 
lanies in Prose, now First Collected. Edited, Prefaced, 
and Annotated by Richard Herne Shepherd. First half. 20 
1682 The Plays and Poems of Charles Dickens, with a few Mis- 
cellanies in Prose, now First Collected. Edited, Pref- 
aced, and Annotated by Richard Herne Shepherd. Sec- 
ond half * 20 


WORKS BY THE AFTHOR OF « DORA THORNE.” 


449 More Bitter than Death 

618 Madolin’s Lover 

656 A Golden Dawn 

678 A Dead Heart 

718 Lord Lynne’s Choice; or. True Love Never Runs Smooth. 

746 Which Loved Him Best 

846 Dora Thorne 

921 At War with Herself 

931 The Sin of a Lifetime 

1013 Lady Gwendoline’s Dream 

1018 Wife in Name Only 

1044 Like No Other Love 

1060 A Woman’s War 

1072 Hilary’s Folly 

1074 A Qiieen Amongst Women 

1077 A Gilded Sin 

1081 A Bridge of Love 

1085 The Fatal Lilies 

1099 Wedded and Parted 

1107 A Bride From the Sea 

1110 A Rose in Thorns.. . ^ 

1115 The Shadow of a Sin 

1122 Redeemed by Love 

1126 The Story of a Wedding-Ring 

1127 Love’s Warfare 

1132 Repented at Leisure 

1179 From Gloom to Sunlight 

1209 Hilda 

1218 A Golden Heart 

1266 Ingledew House 

1288 A Broken Wedding-Ring 

1305 Love For a Day; or. Under the Lilacs 

1357 The Wife’s Secret 

1393 Two Kisses 

1460 Between Two Sins 

1640 The Cost of Her Love. 

1664 Romance of a Black Veil 


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10 

10 

10 


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20 

10 

20 

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10 

10 

10 

10 

10 

10 

10 

10 

10 

10 

10 

10 

20 

20 

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20 

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20 

10 

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10 

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n THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Edition. 


“THE DUCHESS’” WORKS. 

258 Phyllis (small type) 10 

589 Phyllis (large type) 20 

393 Molly Bawn 20 

445 The Baby 10 

499 “Airy Fairy Lilian” 20 

771 Beauty’s Daughters 20 

855 How Snooks Got Out of It 10 

1010 Mrs. Geoffrey 20 

1169 Faith and Unfaith 20 

1518 Portia; or, “ By Passions Rocked.” 20 

1587 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d 10 

1666 Loys, Lord Berresford, and Other Tales 20 

ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS. 

1'44 The Twin Lieutenants 10 

151 The Russian Gipsy 10 

155 The Count of Monte-Cristo (Quadruple Number) 40 

160 The Black Tulip 10 

167 The Queen's Necklace 20 

172 The Chevalier de Maison Rouge 20 

184 The Countess de Charny 20 

188 Nanon 10 

193 Joseph Balsamo; or, Memoirs of a Physician 20 

194 The Conspirators 10 

198 Isabel of Bavaria 10 

201 Catherine Blum 10 

223 Beau Tancrede; or, The Marriage Verdict (small type), ... 10 
997 Beau Tancrede, or. The Marriage Verdict (large type) .... 20 

228 'The Regent’s Daughter 10 

244 The Three Guardsmen 20 

268 The Forty -five Guardsmen 20 

276 The Page of the Duke of Savoy 10 

278 Six Years Later; or. Taking the Bastile 20 

283 Twenty Years After 20 

298 Captain Paul 10 

306 Three Strong Men 10 

318 Ingenue 10 

331 Adventures of a Marquis. First half 20 

331 Adventures of a Marquis. Second half 20 

342 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. I. (small type) 10 

' 1565 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. I. (large type) 20 

1565 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. II. (large type) 20 

1565 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. HI. (large type) 20 

1565 The Mohicans of Paris. Vol. IV. (large type) 20 

344 Ascanio 10 

608 The Watchmaker 20 

616 The Two Dianas 20 

622 Andree de Taverney 20 

664 Vicomte de Bragelonne (1st Series) 20 

^64 Vicomte de Bragelonne (2d Series) 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRART. — Ordinary Edition. tr 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS.— Continued. 


664 Vicomte de Bragelonne (3d Series) 20 

664 Vicomte de Bragelonne (4th Series) 20 

688 Chicot, the Jester ^ 

849 Doctor Basilius 20 

1452 Salvator; Being the continuation and conclusion of “The 

Mohicans of Paris/' Vol. 1 20 

1452 Salvator; Being the continuation and conclusion of “The 

Mohicans of Paris.” Vol. II 20 

1452 Salvator; Being the continuation and conclusion of “ The 

Mohicans of Paris.” Vol. Ill 20 

1452 Salvator: Being the continuation and conclusion of “The 

Mohicans of Paris.” Vol. IV 20 

1452 Salvator; Being the continuation and conclusion of “The 

Mohicans of Paris.” Vol. V 20 

1561 The Corsican Brothers 10 

1592 Marguerite de Valois. An Historical Romance. 20 

GEOROE EBERS’ WORKS. 

712 Uarda: A Romance of Ancient Egypt 20 

756 Homo Sum 10 

812 An Egyptian Princess 20 

880 The Sisters 20 

4120 The Emperor ,* 26 

1397 The Burgomaster’s Wife. A Tale of the Siege of Leyden. 20 
1594 Only a Word 20 


GEORGE ELIOT’S WORKS. 

7 Adam Bede 20 

11 The Mill on the Floss (small type) 10 

941 The Mill on the Floss (large type) 20 

15 Romola 20 

35 Felix Holt, the Radical 20 

58 Silas Marner 10 

70 Middlemarch 20 

80 Daniel Deronda 20 

202 Mr. Gilfil’s Love Story 10 

217 Sad Fortunes of Rev. Amos Barton 10 

277 Brother Jacob 10 

309 Janet’s Repentance 10 

527 Impressions of Theophrastus Such 10 

1276 The Spanish Gypsy; A Poem 20 


MRS. FORRESTER’S WORKS. 

595 Fair Women 

431 Diana Care w 

474 Viva 

504 Rhona 


20 

20 

20 

2C 


rnr THE SEASIBE LIBRARY.— (h'dina/ry EdUion. 


MRS. FORRESTER’S WORKS.-Continued. 

538 A Young Man’s Fancy 10 

556 Mignon 20 

573 The Turn of Fortune’s Wheel 10 

600 Dolores 20 

620 In a Country House 10 

632 Queen Elizabeth’s Garden 1C 

858 Roy and Viola 20 

894 My Hero 2C 

1163 My Lord and My Lady 26 

1471 I Have Lived and Loved 20 

1588 From Olympus to Hades 20 

EMILE GABORIAU’S WORKS. 

408 File No. 113 20 

465 Monsieur Lecoq. First half 20 

465 Monsieur Lecoq. Second half 20 

476 The Slaves of Paris. First half 20 

476 The Slaves of Paris. Second half 20 

490 Marriage at a Venture 10 

494 The Mystery of Orcival 20 

501 Other People’s Money 20 

509 Within an Inch of His Life 20 

515 The Widow Lerouge 20 

523 The Clique of Gold 20 

671 The Count’s Secret. Part 1 20 

671 The Count’s Secret. Part II 20 

704 Captain Contanceau; or, The Volunteers of 1792 10 

741 The Downward Path ; or. A House Built on Sand ( La 

Degringolade). Parti 20 

741 The Downward Path; or, A House Built on Sand (La 

Degringolade). Part II 20 

758 The Little Old Man of the Batignolles 10 

778 The Men of the Bureau 10 

789 Promises of Marriage 10 

813 The 13th Hussars 10 

834 A Thousand Francs Reward 10 

899 Max’s Marriage; or, The Vicomte’s Choice 10 

1184 The Marquise de Brinvilliers 20 

MARY CECIL HAY’S WORKS. 

8 The Arundel Motto 10 

407 The Arundel Motto (in large type) 20 

9 Old Myddelton’s Money 10 

427 Old Myddelton’s Money (in large type) 20 

17 Hidden Perils 70 

434 Hidden Perils (in large type) 20 

23 The Squire’s Legacy 10 

616 The Squire’s Legacy (in large type). , 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Ordinary Edition. rr 


MARY CECIL HAY’S WORKS.— Continued. 

27 Victor and Vanquished 20 

29 Nora’s Love Test 10 

421 Nora’s Love Test (in large type) 20 

275 A Shadow on the Threshold 10 

363 Reaping the Whirlwind 10 

384 Back to the Old Home 10 

415 A Dark Inheritance \ 10 

440 The Sorrow of a Secret, and Lady Carmichael’s Will 10 

686 Brenda Yorke 10 

724 For Her Dear Sake 20 

852 Missing 10 

855 Dolf’s Big Brother 10 

930 In the Holidays, and The Name Cut on a Gate 10 

935 Under Life’s Key, and Other Stories 20 

‘ 972 Into the Shade, and Other Stories 20 

1011 My First Offer 10 

1014 Told in New England, and Other Tales 10 

1016 At the Seaside; or, A Sister’s Sacrifice 10 

1220 Dorothy’s Venture 20 

1221 Among the Ruins, and Other Stories 10 

1431 “A Little Aversion” 10 

1549 Bid Me Discourse 10 

THOMAS HUGHES’ WORKS. 

492 Tom Brown’s Schooldays at Rugby 20 

598 The Manliness of Christ 10 

640 Tom Brpwn at Oxford 20 

1041 Rugby — Tennessee 10 

CHARLES LEVER’S WORKS. 

98 Harry Lorrequer 20 

132 Jack Hinton, the Guardsman 20 

137 A Rent in a Cloud 10 

146 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon (Triple Number) 30 

152 Arthur O’Leary 20 

168 Con Cregan 20 

169 St. Patrick’s Eve 10 

174 Kate O’Donoghue 20 

257 That Boy of Norcott’s 10 

296 Tom Burke of Ours. First half 20 

296 Tom Burke of Ours. Second half 20 

319 Davenport Dunn. First half 20 

319 Davenport Dunn. Second half 20 

464 Gerald Fitzgerald 20 

470 The Fortunes of Glencore 20 

529 Lord Kilgobbin... 20 

546 Maurice Tier nay. 20 

566 A Day’s Ride 20 


K THE SEASIDE LIBEAIfT. — Oi'dinary Edition. 


CHARLES LEYER’S WORKS.-Continued. 

609 Barrington 20 

633 Sir Jasper Carew, Knight 20 

657 The Martins of Cro’ Martin. Part 1 20 

657 The Martirns of Cro’ Martin. Part II 20 

822 Tony Butler 20 

872 Luttrell of Arran. Part 1 20 

872 Luttrell of Arran. Part 11 20 

951 Paul Gosslett’s Confessions 10 

965 One of Them. First half 20 

965 One of Them. Second half 20 

989 Sir Brook Fossbrooke. Part 1 20 

989 Sir Brook Fossbrooke. Part II 20 

1235 The Bramleighs of Bishop’s Folly 20 

1309 The Dodd Family Abroad. First half 20 

1309 The Dodd Family Abroad. Second half 20 

1342 Horace Templeton 20 

1394 Roland Cashel. First half 20 

1394 Roland Cashel. Second half 20 

1496 The Daltons; or. Three Roads in Life. First half 20 

1496 The Daltons; or, Three Roads in Life. Second half 20 


SAMUEL LOYER’S WORKS. 

33 Handy Andy 20 

66 Rory O ’More 20 

123 Irish Legends 10 

158 He Would be a Gentleman 20 

293 Tom Crosbie 10 


SIR BULWER LYTTON’S WORKS. 

6 The Last Days of Pompeii 20 

587 Zanoni 20 

689 Pilgrims of the Rhine 10 

714 Leila; or, The Siege of Grenada 10 

781 Rienzi, The Last of the Tribunes 20 

955 Eugene Aram 20 

979 Ernest Maltravers 20 

1001 Alice; or, The Mysteries 20 

1064 The Caxtons 20 

1089 My Novel. First half 20 

1089 My Novel Second half 20 

1205 Kenelm Chillingly: His Adventures and Opinions 20 

1316 Pelham; or, The Adventures of a Gentleman 20 

1454 The Last of the Barons. First half 20 

1454 The Last of the Barons. Second half 20 

1529 A Strange Story . 20 

1690 What Will He Do With It? First half 20 

11690 What Will He Do With It? Second half. 


The seaside library. — ordinary Edition. xi 


T. B. MACAULAY’S WORKS. 

926 The Lays of Ancient Rome, and Other Poems 10 

976 History of England. Part 1 20 

976 History of England. Part II 20 

976 History of England. Part III 20 

976 History of England. Part IV 20 

976 History of England. Part V 20 

976 History of England. Part VI 20 

976 History of England. Part VII 20 

976 History of England. Part VIII 20 

976 History of England. Part IX 20 

976 History of England. Part X 20 

GEORGE MACDONALD’S WORKS. 

455 Paul Faber, Surgeon 20 

491 Sir Gibbie 20 

595 The Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood 20 

606 The Seaboard Parish 20< 

627 Thomas Wingfold, Curate 20 

643 The Vicar’s Daughter 20 

668 David Elginbrod 20 

677 St. George and St. Michael 20 

790 Alec Forbes of Howglen 20 

887 Malcolm 20 

922 Mary Marston 20 

938 Guild Court. A London Story 20 

948 The Marquis of Lossie 20 

962 Robert Falconer 20 

1375 Castle Warlock: A Homely Romance 20 

1439 Adela Cathcart ' 20 

1466 The Gifts of the Child Christ, and Other Tales 10 

1488 The Princess and Curdie. A Girl’s Story 10 

1498 Weighed and Wanting 20 

E. MARLITT’S WORKS. 

453 The Princess of the Moor 20 

522 The Countess Gisela 20 

636 In the Schillingscourt 20 

866 The Second Wife 20 

878 In the Counselor’s House. 20 

1055 The Bailiff’s Maid 20 

-1210 Old Mamselle’s Secret 20 

CAPTAIN MARRYAT’S WORKS. 

108 The Sea-King 10 

122 The Privateersman 10 

141 Masterman Ready 10 

147 Rattlin, the Reefer 10 

150 Mr. Midshipman Easy 10 

156 The King’s Own. 10 


XII 


TEE SEASIDE LIBRARY — Ordinary Edition. 


CAPTAIN MARRYAT’S WORKS.- Continued. 

159 The Phantom Ship 10 

163 Frank Mildmay 10 

170 Newton Forster 10 

173 Japhet in Search of a Father. 20 

175 The Pacha of Many Tales 10 

176 Percival Keene 10 

185 The Little Savage 10 

192 The Three Cutlers 10 

199 Settlers in Canada 10 

207 The Children of the New Forest 10 

266 Jacob Faithful 10 

273 Snarleyyow, the Dog Fiend 10 

282 Poor Jack 10 

340 Peter Simple 20 

898 The Mission ; or, Scenes in Africa ; 20 

1070 The Poacher 20 

1116 Valerie 20 

FLORENCE MARRYAT’S WORKS. 

110 The Girls of Feversham 10 

119 Petrouel 20 

197 “ No Intentions” 20 

206 The Poison of Asps 10 

219 “ My Own Child” 10 

305 Her Lord and Master 10 

323 A Lucky Disappointment 10 

426 Written in Fire " 20 

533 Ange 20 

635 A Harvest of Wild Oats 20 

703 The Root of All Evil 20 

742 A Star and a Heart 10 

784 Out of His Reckoning 10 

820 The Fair-Haired Alda 20 

897 Love’s Conflict 20 

t038 With Cupid’s Eyes 20 

i067 A Little Stepson 10 

1086 My Sister the Actress 20 

1349 Phyllida. A Life Drama 20 

1654 Facing the Footlights 20 

MISS MULOCK’S WORKS. 

2 John Halifax, Gentleman 10 

456 John Halifax, Gentleman (large type).. ' 20 

77 Mistress and Maid 10 

81 Christian’s Mistake 10 

82 M}'^ Mother and 1 10 

88 The Two Marriages 10 

91 The Woman’s Kingdom * 20 

101 A Noble Life ] [ ] 10 

103 A Brave Lady r, . 20 


1 


The' Seaside Library — Pocket Edition. 


(CONTINUED FROM SECOND PAGE OF COVER.) 

NO. 

143 One False, Both 
Harwood 


No. PRICK. 

113 Mr . Carr’s Companion. ByM. Wight- 

vick 10 

1 114 So ae of our Girls. By Mrs. Eiloart. . 20 

1 115 D moud Cut Diamond. By T. Adol- 

ihus Trollope 10 

;116Mctlis. By“Ouida” 20 

: 117 A lie of the Shore and Ocean. By 

V. H. G. Kingston 20 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford, and Eric Der- 

ing. By “ Tlie Duchess ” 10 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill'd. By 

Tlie Ducliess " 10 

120 Tom Brown’s Schooldays at Rugby. 

By Thos. Hughes L 20 

121 Maid of Athens. By Justin McCarthy 20 
' 122 lone Stewart. By Mrs. E. LynnLinton 20 
. 123 Sweet is True Love. “ The Duchess”. 10 

124 Tliree Feathers. By William Black. . 20 
i 125 The Monarch of Mincing Lane. By 

William Black 20 

: 126 Kilmeny. By William Black 20 

127 Adrian Bright. By Mrs. Caddy 20 

128 Afternoon, and Other Sketches. By 

” Ouida ” 10 

129 Rossmoyne. By “ The Duchess ” 10 

130 The Last of the Barons. By Sir E. 

Bulwer Lvtton 40 

131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles Dick- 

ens 40 

132 Master Hutnphrey’s Clock. By Charles 

Dickens 10 

133 Peter the Whaler. By Wm. H. G. 

Kingston 10 

i 134 The Witcliing Hour. ‘‘The Duchess” 10 

! 1.35 A (ireat Heiress. By R. E Francillon 10 

136 “That Last Rehearsal.” By “The 

Duchess ” 10 

137 Uncle Jack. By Walter Besant 10 

’ 138 Green Pastui’es and Piccadilly. By 

William Black 20 

139 The Romantic Adventures of a Milk- 
maid. By Thomas Hardy 10 

I 140 A (Glorious Fortune. Walter Besant. . 10 

' 141 She Loved Him. By Annie Thomas. 10 

j 142 Jenifer. By Annie Thomas 20 

f 


20 

10 

20 

20 


PRICE. 

Fair, By John B. 
20 

144 Promises of Marriage. By Gaboriau 10 

145 God and the Man. By Robert Buch- 

anan 

146 Love Finds the Way. By Walter Be- 

sant atid James Rice 

147 Rachel Ray. By Anthony Trollope.. 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. By 

the Author of “ Dora Tiiorne ”... 

149 The Captain's Daughter. From the 

Russian of Pushkin 10 

150 For Himself Alone. By T. W. Speight 10 
1.51 The Ducie Diamonds. C. Blatherwick 10 

152 The Uncommercial Traveler. By 

Charles Dickens 20 

153 The Golaen Calf. By Miss M. E. Brad- 

don 20 

154 Annan Water, By Robert Buchanan. 20 

155 Lady Muriel’s Secret. By Jean Mid- 

dlemass 20 

156 “ For a Dream's Sake.” By Mrs. Her 

bert Martin 

157 Mllly’s Hero. By F. W. Robinson 

158 The Starling. Norman Macleod, D.D. 

159 A Moment of Madness, and Other 

Stories. By Florence Marryat 

160 Her Gentle Deeds. By Sarah Tytler. 

161 Tlie Lady of Lj’ons. Founded on the 

Play of that Title by Lord Lvtton. 

162 Eugene Aram. By Sir E. Bulwer Lyt- 

ton 

163 Winifred Power. By Joyce Darrell . . 

164 Leila; or. The Siege of (Grenada. By 

Sir E. Bulwer T.ytton 

165 The History of Henry Esmond. By 

AVilliam Makepeace Thackerav. . . 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites. By“*"^ 

Duchess ” ; 

167 Heart and Science. By Wilkie Collins 20 

16.S No Thoroughfare. By Charles Dick- 
ens and Wilkie Collins 10 

169 The Haunted Man. By Charles Dick- 

ens ‘ 10 

170 A Great Treason, By Mary Hoppus. 30 


The 


20 

20 

10 

10 

10 

10 

20 

20 

10 

20 

10 


Pocket 

Edition, otherwise the Ordinary Edition wiil be sent. Addi-ess, 

GEORGE MIJNRO, PiiblUlier, 

P» O. Box 3751. 17 to '27 Vandewnter Street, New YovU, 


PROSPECTUS FOR 1884. 

'THE ]\E:W YORK FIRESIOR COIflPAYIOY 

Is the best paper of the kind published. Its popularity is entirely owing to good stories. 

The best native talent is employed in every department. Among its female writers are 

Mrs. Lucy Randall Comfort. Mrs. Charlotte M. Stanley, Mrs. 

Alex. McVelgrIi Miller, Mrs. Sumner Hayden, Christine 
jJP Carlton, Rose Aslileigh, the Author of “Dora 

Thorne,” Mary Cecil Hay, etc,, etc. 

I XKRRS FOR 1884 The New York Fireside Companion will be sent for 
one year, on receipt of $3; two copies for S5; or nine copies for S20. Getters-up of Cmbs 
2 an afterward add single copies at $2.50 each. We will be I'esponsible for remittances sent 
I, in Registered Letters, or bv Post-office Money Orders, Postage free. Specimen copies 
f sent fi ee. GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 17 to 27 Vandewater St,, N, Y, (P, O. Box 3751.) 


± 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Pocket Edition. 

Latest Issues. 

NO. pnicE. 

170 A Grreat Treason. By Maky Hoppus 30 

109 The Haunted Man. By Charles Dickens 10 

108 No Thoroughfare. By Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins. 10 

107 Heart and Science. By Wilkie Collins 20 

100 Moonshine and Marguerites. By “ The Duchess 10 

105 The History of Henry Esmond. By William M. Thackeray. . 20 

104 Leila; or, The Siege of Grenada. By Sir E. Bclwer Lytton. 10 

103 Winifred Power. By Joyce Darrell 20 

102 Eugene Aram. By Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 20 

1^1 The Lady of Lyons. Founded on the Play op that Title 

By Lord Lytton 10 

100 Her Gentle Deeds. By Sarah Tytler 10 

159 A Moment of Madness, and Other Stories. Florence Marryat 10 

158 The Starling. By Norman Macleod, D.D. 10 

157 Milly’s Hero. By F. W. Robinson .-. 20 

150 “ For a Dream’s Sake.” By Mrs. Herbert Martin 20 

155 Lady Muriel’s Secret. By Jean Middlemass 20 

154 Annan Water. By Robert Buchanan 20 

153 The Golden Calf. By Miss M. E. Br addon 20 

152 The Uncommercial Traveler. By Charle-s Dickens 20 

150 For Himself Alone. By T. W. Speight 10 

149 The Captain’s Daughter. From the Russian of Pushkin 10 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. By Author of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 
147 Rachel Ray. By Anthony Trollope 20 

140 Love Finds the Way, and Other Stories. By Besant and Rice 10 

144 Promises of Marriage. By Emile Gaboriau 10 

143 One False, Both Fair. By John B. Harwood 20 

141 She Loved Him. By Annie Thomas (Mrs. Pender Cudlip) 10 

140 A Glorious Fortune. By Walter Besant 10 

139 The Romantic Adventures of a Milkmaid. By Thos. Hardy. 10 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. By W tlliam Black 20 

137 Uncle Jack. By Walter Besant 10 

136 “That Last Rehearsal.” By “The Duchess” 10 

135 A Great Heiress. By R. E. Francillon 10 

129 Rossmoyne. By “ The Duchess ” 10 

122 lone Stewart. By Mrs. E. Lynn Linton 20 

121 Maid of Athens. By Justin McCarthy* 20 

115 Diamond Cut Diamond. By T. Adolphus Trollope 10 

110 Under The Red Flag. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 10 

109 Little Loo. By W. Clark Russell 20 

105 A Noble Wife. By John Saunders 20 

104 The Coral Pin. By F. Du Boisgobey 30 

j 97 All in a Garden Fair. By Walter Besant 20 

54 A Broken W^edding-Ring. By the Author of “Dora Thorne” 20 

51 Dora Thorne. By the Author op Her Mother’s Sin ” .20 

1 Yolande. By William Black 20 

The above books are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage 
' prepaid, by the publisher, on receipt of 12 cents for single numbers., and 25 cents for double 
numbers. Parties wishing the Pocket Edition of The Seaside Library must be carefn’ to 
mentiun the Pocket Edition, otherwise the Ordinary Edition will be sent. Address, 

P.O. Box 3751. GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 17 to 27 Vandewater St., N. Y. 

i - ' ■ 


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